


After and before; Who are we?

by SfrogPlus



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: AGAIN I REPEAT TREAD CAREFULLY, Detectives, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Like suicide and made-up pills, M/M, My own take of the Pre-Game Personalities, PLEASE TREAD LIKE A NAGA IN THE SEA, Planned Out Plot, Pre-Game Personalities (New Dangan Ronpa V3), Rewrite of my other fic that sucked but this also sucks, Sneaking Around, There are triggers for some people, There will be a couple of references, Weekly Updates or so, letters from the future, please tread carefully
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-10-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 35,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SfrogPlus/pseuds/SfrogPlus
Summary: Saihara stares, face blank and eyes flickering yellow (But no matter how much he stares, it doesn't change). A paper underneath an envelope stares back, filled with lines of a story.A story from the future,to Saihara's entertainment.Names. A total of sixteen names, including himself. Listed like taxes on a house, they almost seem familiar. And as it turns out, he happens to recognize a few.(Saihara meets everyone and goes DetectiveCHOMPon everyone because he can't keep his letters in his pockets and this is pre-game. Re-write ofChoices to Choose.)
Relationships: Chabashira Tenko/Yumeno Himiko (background), Harukawa Maki & Saihara Shuichi, Harukawa Maki/Momota Kaito (background), Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Comments: 28
Kudos: 55





	1. Ultimate Supreme Leader {Part One}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara meets Kokichi Ouma, and he befriends Maki Harukawa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. I got the chapter out. Finally. Okay. Um, hey, thanks for reading, sorry I kinda wasn't exactly sure what to do at the very end how to end it so that's weird. Uh- I've had snake mood, watermelon mood, box mood when writing this, so feel free to point out anything that doesn't make sense or any corrections that need to be made.

There’s a shake in the background, a camera moving? It’s hard to say; everything goes pitch black.

Somebody— because that’s the only thing it can even be— lights up a lamp dim and dull, as they reach a hand over to something else, a dim silhouette and a pale hand (and Saihara _swears_ he’s seen that bracelet on their arm before) _,_ fingernails painted bright red.

_He has seen them before._

And suddenly, there’s a sharp jab to the back of his head, and his vision turns to a blur.

But he knows— _He knows because it’s true—_ that there’s something more to everything than he knows.

“Ah, you’re still awake?” A voice. _A hint._ It’s light and airy and sounds _so, so familiar that it’s at the tip of his tongue and he can’t put his finger on it and—_ The person laughs, high and hysterical, sounding artificial. 

Something warm, drenched in cold water, covers his eyes _(There’s someone behind him?)_ and everything disintegrates into a flash of pink.

* * *

_XXX days after, XXXXXX, X:XX XX. Thursday._

“Er, if you receive this letter, then I suppose I’m dead. But that sounds a little weird… I apologize, I haven’t written a letter in a while so I may be a little rusty. But to simplify, I am you, and you are me. But not really?

Ah.

That sounds a little weird again… But, how should I explain this..? Er, I doubt you will believe me, I definitely wouldn’t! Wait, no, I would believe myself! Ah… I wish I had an eraser…

I’m you. From the future.

From a killing game—” The letter goes on, continuing in long sentences and paragraphs, explaining some bullshit story about some Danganronpa-style killing game, and a whole personality change, fifteen other people in such a descriptive way they almost sound _real,_ and an agreement with someone or something with two other people and the real mastermind, and—

(And it was _fucking interesting.)_

The date of December 18th of next year rings in his head.

* * *

_426 days ago, after school, 5:00 PM. Thursday._

“Hey, kid, what’re you doing?”

Saihara, covered in a well-worn school uniform, a black and white jacket wrapped around his waist, glances over with eyes flickering a pale yellow as his uncle awkwardly scratches his neck. Saihara quickly puts (Though he isn’t quite sure why his fingers shake) the envelope away into his pocket.

His voice, he knows is dripping with boredom, “I was looking at something someone sent me.” 

A pause of silence.

“Okay then.” His uncle nods and Saihara twists the hat on his head. And in almost a blunt way, another conversation starts. “Have you... seen any black-masked people these days?” Saihara shakes his head, “Ah.”

It didn’t take a detective for one to figure out that the conversation ended. It was a dull conversation anyways, it wouldn’t make sense to continue. Saihara gives a small glance over to that purple-headed boy that always waits outside for one of the detectives here (He never paid enough attention to something boring. It wasn’t rational).

His eyes flicker yellow, and he glances at the umbrella the purple-head boy is holding. _Danganronpa._ A Danganronpa umbrella. There’s a bandage on his cheek, there always is for some strange reason Saihara doesn’t understand. He wears a black uniform that looks a little big on him, always looking at his phone, and an umbrella in his other hand.

He’s eerily similar to Kokichi Ouma, the mischievous one the descriptions this ( _fake_ ) future Saihara went on about. The supposed mastermind of the killing game that allegedly will happen in the future.

(And Saihara wonders why he seems so familiar.)

“Apparently, there’s some sort of scene where the perpetrators of the black-masked cases don’t even remember what they were doing that day, that they just completely... forgot, or something.” His uncle mummers underneath his breath, a pen in one hand and a file in the other. He glares at the paper and Saihara thinks it is fine to go leave.

Plus, he was just repeating information about the recent black-masked cases where people wearing black bags around their heads walked around unsuspected. And every single time, after they tap on somebody’s shoulder, there are repeated actions to get at least one of them beaten up. And that’s all the public knows; that’s all you need to know.

He opens the door quietly, the bell above the door giving him a quiet hiss. His uncle seems too memorized now within the world of work and with a step, Saihara is out of the office. 

A short hall of doors, until he reaches the waiting room and a small purple-head with a black uniform, sits awkwardly there with a frown. There’s something in his hand that he quickly shuffles away when Saihara opens his mouth, 

“Hello.”

The supposed Ouma frowns, a sharp glare in his eye (like he’s analyzing him, through laser eyes) before fading into fear. _A liar,_ is what Saihara remembers from that strange letter. “ _When he lies, it’s almost like he’s telling the truth”._

“A-Ah… H-Hi?” His voice is quiet, like the drops of rain from the corners of the porch he enjoyed watching when he was younger; though his memory of that is foggy. “Y-You’re…” There’s a flash of recognition.

“Shuichi Saihara, 1st year in high school. Nice to meet you.”

Saihara raises his hand.

Full-blown panic guides its way into the supposed Ouma’s face, still like a deer in headlights whose fate is already sealed. “Um… Nice to m-meet you?” He sounds unsure, purple eyes glancing around.

Saihara decides he should probably put his hand back in his pocket since it’s obvious he does not plan on taking it.

The supposed Ouma frowns, lips chapped and looking an odd pale. “I-I’m… Kokichi Ouma, last year in middle school..? Um, who are you?” He’s very clearly lying, and not even trying to hide it. Saihara pauses (He pauses for the first time).

 _Kokichi Ouma._ Saihara feels his boredom grow.

_So very predictable._

“As I said, I’m Shuichi—”

“N-No, I, er… mean w-why you walked up to me?” There’s a short moment of silence before Ouma quickly apologizes in that whisper of a voice. “S-Sorry!” Saihara sits down to the rickety old chair across from Ouma.

“Ah. You should have clarified. I just realized something interesting.”

Ouma furrows his brows.

Saihara forces out a carefree laugh, “Anyways, why are you always here?” Or had been for the past two months. Or maybe more. Saihara can’t remember (because nothing seems interesting enough to remember these days).

Ouma doesn’t answer, but instead rubs his arms in awkward motion and flashes an awkward smile. “It’s… private.” Saihara finds that there are a lot of private things here, in detectives’ offices. That’s understandable.

He isn’t sure what he’s doing— Who would if someone receives some letter from the alleged future that doesn’t specify what you should do with some pieces of information (if he were to believe if it was true.)

“Does it have anything to do with—” _A letter from the future? About kidnapping and an entire personality change?_ “DICE.” Saihara crosses his legs, leaning back as he watches Ouma’s reaction. He looks shocked beyond belief.

And then he looks angry.

And then he leaves without saying one more word.

(Saihara finds it predictable, but he can’t help but spot a single envelope on the spot near where Ouma was sitting.

He opens it, and suddenly he feels a lot more interested.)

* * *

_418 days ago, school, 8:12 AM. Friday._

The halls are long, and the doors seem like one too many. There are windows, leering into some sort of fountain. In one of the rooms, there are rows and rows and rows of desks, and Saihara sits with one hand on his cheek.

He's so bored, so utterly bored he wishes he could just burn the school down, as he peers into his notes (notes he already memorized from when he was bored). The teacher speaks a language Saihara can decipher but he doesn't, instead, his head rewinds the fact that Ouma hasn't gone back to the detectives' offices for one more day than a week.

But that just means Saihara got the reason right. 

The classes go a little faster after he starts thinking about Ouma, the loosely-sealed letter in his pocket, and the supposed killing game his supposed future self was talking about. Saihara shuts his eyes and thinks; another class passes.

Lunch goes like usual, the homeroom is too loud and Saihara swears someone keeps putting apples on the teacher’s desk. Fortunately for him, he doesn't sit in the homeroom. The roof is often locked, but after his 27th day to get in (and he happened to be counting because time is slow and he might as well try to busy himself), it happened to be unlocked.

And someone just happened to be on it.

Saihara remembers recognizing them due to that burgundy bomber jacket they always wore, loosely fitting around her, and that silver necklace that hung around her neck, tucked in so Saihara couldn't see what the ornament for it is. Chocolate hair (hung in two loose ponytails), bright red eyes, and doesn't participate during PE. 

Maki Harukawa; a girl that sits across the room in most of his classes.

They don't talk much on the roof, despite Harukawa's open-minded self who giggles and laughs too much and has too many friends Saihara doesn't bother talking to her, or anyone. 

They know each other though, _from_ back in Middle school and maybe even before (Saihara's memories are foggy, he swears they've always been). 

She tends to look out the roof, through the thin holes of the chain fence that blocks people from jumping off, only a small hole where you could hang your feet off the ledge.

Today, it appears she's looking at the plants up there, in small pots that are dying, over against the wall. It's cold (it's October, the air is already frozen, and he wonders if winter came early). She smiles at him, small and fake, before staring back at the plants with dead ruby eyes.

Saihara has been pondering whether he should start up a conversation or not because her name was listed on the letter. For an entire week, every lunch, thinking and thinking about it until it's too late and she is gone. 

"You…" Harukawa starts to say, and Saihara is almost shocked. "You wear a lot of Danganronpa merch." She isn't wrong. Saihara's wardrobe is stacked with clothes of references, and he puts stickers and buttons of Danganronpa onto his backpack. He's wearing a black and white jacket, as always, with one red eye that glares into others. "Isn't that show, like, illegal or something?"

And then she giggles as if the thought is hysterical.

(Saihara feels a little interested, though, with each passing second, it dwindles. The words Danganronpa make him close his eyes.)

"The show isn't illegal; the government just hates it since they can't do a thing about it." Which says a lot, considering it hasn't been airing for two years. Everyone still seems to put as a topic of the day though, despite its leaving without a word.

She giggles again, a pleasant smile on her face as she stares at the withering plants. "... That's so funny, Saihara-kun!" Saihara shrugs. She stands up, one hand in her pocket and the other fidgeting with her hair. "Hey, hey. Why don't we talk a little more later? You seem like a cool guy, I think."

Saihara pauses. One, two, three beats pass by, before he clarifies, "You have a horrible Chiaki Nanami impression. I would recommend you practice it more." Harukawa laughs.

(And Saihara pretends he didn't read a letter with her name on it, next to it saying _Assassin._ He pretends because Saihara's small help with his uncle's work, and Ouma's tight reaction to the word DICE, he isn't sure he wants to poke and prude into something he ain't prepared for.)

School goes on. 

* * *

_417 days ago, after school, 2:28 PM. Saturday._

Saihara has been researching "DICE" lately.

There was a small organization that went around Japan (the police had yet to determine their main base), doing such things that a stereotypical mafia might partake in. The descriptions were less than abnormal, though it would be best not to partake in trying, Saihara figured. The name of this organization, "DICE".

There was a small cafe nearby with the name "DICE", located down to the path to school next to a flower shop. They were an aesthetic cafe where people dressed up in straight jackets and clown masks, the floor painted checkered and the owner painted grey.

There was a dice shop called "DICE" that sold D&D dice. They were off the main in the city, in a small corner street Saihara recognized where people wanted to rent instruments and graffiti painted the walls.

There was a fashion model online that wore black and white clothes, classic games printed over. Their codename was "Queen" and they are hosting a fashion show that is rumoured to be in November called "DICE", and the money will be given to the "Ichigo Budõ Children's Hospital"

There was a—

The creaking noises of the wooden floor in his uncle’s office seemed considerably louder today; the sacramento colour of the walls didn’t calm him down, the rustling papers in the background not helping. 

Saihara takes a quick glance around, among the stacks and stacks of disorganized files, coffee cups gone empty, and stressed mutters coming from his uncle. Nothing out of the ordinary, though he can’t help but feel as though something is off today (Something is always off; sometimes we just never notice, ignoring it with a glance and moving on).

Saihara isn’t quick enough to notice and suddenly,

(the bell jingles, in almost a taunting way and Saihara swears he sees somebody with a wide grin on their face. A pale complexion that resembles the clean walls of a hospital driving one insane, bright red lipstick plastered to them like melted glue, and overlay mascara like a doll. Like plastic. 

And Saihara can’t get it out of his head.)

A girl, around his age he’d say. Pale blonde hair cut to curl, foggy eyes tinted pink, a blue sailor outfit loosely fit with red tie ripped. She’s saying something, words and words he can’t understand; Saihara isn’t paying attention. He recognizes her. 

_Kaede Akamatsu._ The details in the letter about her are to remain anonymous, but Saihara almost swears he can hear the tapping keys of a piano in his head, because there’s something strange about her that he can’t put his finger on and he... (and then when he breathes, his eyes flicker yellow when he finds that _ah, he’s bored again.)_

“Hey, kid…” There’s a pause; hesitation? Saihara isn’t sure if he cares enough to know. “Looks like I have business.” Saihara gives him a blank stare, as he shuffles off the hoodie on his head. He glances at the crossed-arm girl before he steps out the room.

And to his pleasant surprise, he finds Ouma sitting uncomfortably with his hands on his knees in tight fists. His eyes nervously flit around even with his head down. Saihara finds it amusing ( _Amusing? Amusing? Amusing?)_ that he doesn’t seem to even notice as Saihara takes a step closer, and another, and another, and anoth—

“Hello,” Saihara says. Ouma’s eyes flicker up at him like a cat, and it looks almost as though he was expecting him to be right in front of him. “Shuichi Saihra, 1st year in high school. Nice to meet you.” Saihara doesn’t hold out his hand.

“A-Ah…” The air rings of words unsaid. And Saihara couldn’t care less. “It s-shouldn’t be _Nice to meet y_ —”

Saihara interrupts him. “Again. Nice to meet you again.”

“Er… Y-Yeah.” Ouma nods, glancing sideways as though he can’t look Saihara in the eye. (Saihara wonders if Medusa could feel the cold stone around her as she walks.) “C-Could you please not s-stand in front of me..?” Saihara tilts his head. “Y-You’re standing in front of m-me.”

“Ah. Right.” Saihara nods, sitting down to the chair next to Ouma this time. Unsurprisingly, he shifts around in his chair with uncomfort. Saihara thinks for one quick second, before deciding. It wouldn’t be rational to ignore the matter-at-hand. (Though he won’t admit that it’s not.) “Anyways, DICE.”

Ouma’s eyes go neon purple, and his mouth remains shut. Panic? Confusion? Anger? Frustration? And then back to a dull black, eyes falling to the ground.

(He remembers. Clowns. Checkers. Secret organization. Lies. Lies. Lies held in a cage, enrapturing his head. And then he forgets.) Saihara imagines the future Ouma, implanted like fake gold to a crown. “Cafe.” And Ouma’s shoulders relax.

Saihara continues, “Why live in shrubbery when you could have a throne?” He has figured it out. Though he would rather let his thoughts remain silent as he watches Ouma’s eyes flash a look of confusion going to shock. 

Fear.

“I-I… live in shrubbery for that’s what I crave..?” Ouma stutters. “And…” Ouma glances around again, face glowing with caution. He mutters underneath his breath, “ _What the fuck am I doing_ —”

“Living.” Saihara chirps up. Because that’s the reasonable answer. (And god does Saihara wonder what it even means to live.) “Anyway, you answered all the questions I needed to know. Until we meet again.” Ouma furrows his brows, before he fumbles with his pocket and pulls out a phone, eyes going wide when he pauses.

Indecision. Doubt.

And resolution. “H-Here, er, I-I mean, my phone number, as an apology for last time… Actually—”

“Actually?” And Ouma’s face yells at him to stop interrupting him, before switching back to soft eyes, glancing off to the corner of the room. “Here. XXX-XXX-XXXX. If you manage to remember that, then feel free to tell me if that’s the correct phone number.” Ouma knits his brows together, before nodding an excessive amount.

“... Goodbye then, Saihara-senpai.” Ouma does a quick bow, before awkwardly rubbing his arm. “Er, you’re… leaving, right?” Ah. That would be the rational decision, Saihara supposes, now that the conversation ended.

He stands up, brushing at his wrists before hedging back towards the hallway, quiet steps hard against the floor wood. (And every step feels heavy as he heads for the door like he’s expecting something. _Like he’s expecting something more than he should.)_ He pauses, at his uncle’s office door.

The door whispers to him, in quiet voices. 

_“_ —uo mean that Emiko and that dwart of a husband plan on having you two marry!? You’re kids, for god’s sake. Not some— some puppets that are being forced, not some American drama show! Holy…”

“Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear?” (Macbeth?) For I have put forth that it is I, to situate myself in such deposition. If I were to have mind, then believe, I would _mind.”_ Her voice is dead flat, as though she isn’t sure emotions exist.

There’s a sigh on the other side, “It’s not… It’s not fucking about you, kid. I’ve been taking care of this kid for _years!_

Paying for his education, forcing myself to try and communicate, and not a _fucking single goddamn word from the actual parents._ My wife died trying to take care of him, and I swear I will as well. I’m not selling him out because suddenly some irresponsible parents decide they want to put some shit work on _my_ kid—”

Saihara taps on the door, before opening it. The voices stop and stare at him with incredulity, as though they are surprised he even exists. The window behind his uncle’s desk lets the dull sun shining in, and the translucent glow makes Saihara yawn. 

His backpack is still in the office, perhaps he should have grabbed it before. (Though that wouldn’t be rational if he wanted to see the supposed Kaede Akamatsu. Then again, what really is rationality?)

“Hello.” Saihara nods, glancing over at his backpack.

“Kid, get o—”

Saihara tilts his head. But the creature in front of him still matches the descriptions of Kaede Akamatsu. (And Saihara wonders if it’s sane to think like this) “Shuichi Saihara, first year in high school. Nice to meet you.” He holds out his hand, waiting for her to grab it.

She does, her lips the shade of pink lemonade curling into a wide smile (he swears he sees someone else). “I bid to you, a warm welcome, _Shuichi Saihara_ , and I bid you, a touch of good luck.” Saihara almost laughs how she hisses at her S’s. He doesn’t, because his voice fails when he imagines red-painted fingernails.

His breath stops.

“I overheard your conversation with my uncle.” Saihara blurts out, eyes flickering yellow. (And pink eyes flicker red in amusement.) “So, now they want me to marry you, huh?” 

Saihara’s uncle flinches, trying to hide _something away._ Her eyes show as though she knows everything. Saihara doubts. 

She sighs, as though exasperated on a play, (and the play shall go on until the end. And so will life, until the very end of it all.) “This love I feel, that feel no love in this. Were I not to think my own, then may you pass me by.” Saihara gives her a bored look, and she laughs.

“Uh… God, just— Kid, leave.” He’s looking at Saihara, glaring. And Saihara understands, letting go of her tight grip and quickly shuffling through the chair to grab his backpack. He glances at the girl’s shaded pink eyes.

“If I may introduce myself, I shall tell; Kaede Akamatsu. 2nd year in high school. Farewell, and good night. Let us meet again on a warmer day, the winds blow at us a cold breeze.” Not a cold breeze per se, but rather it appears his uncle would rather them not talk to each other.

“Okay.” Saihara nods, before lifting his hood for his jacket and exiting the building, giving Ouma a glance and a smile. (He wonders if he should tell his uncle at all where he plans on going. Probably. But if he does, then that may be a hindrance towards where he plans on seeing.)

Saihara glances at the two letters in his pocket; The one he got from his alleged future self, and the other that seems Ouma had lost. The note Ouma got. Saihara heads to the location with swift feet, briskly walking.

He supposes he takes more after his uncle in this way of investigation, rather than his parents. Saihara forces out a laugh, a cheer? It’s hard to say, at that.

* * *

_416 days ago, morning, 12:06 PM. Monday._

Yesterday was uneventful, the weekend short and simple. Nothing to note. _(Utterly boring.)_ Homeroom, five minutes. The clock ticks until twelve o’ five. His homeroom teacher shuffles uncomfortably today, staying in the classroom. Saihara cast overs to the door. And waits.

The teacher pauses, takes a rushed glance around the room, and walks dejectedly out the room with a sigh.

Saihara quickly stands up once the teacher is out of sight before something like metal pulls on his sleeve.

And to his pleasant surprise, there sits Maki Harukawa, legs crossed as she sits in front of him with a hard glare. Before she giggles at him as though he is stupid. She calms down, one hand on her chest and the other twirling around a bundle of hair. She gives him a soft smile, red eyes staring up at him.

Her mouth opens, and her voice is light and airy, “Saihara-kun!” Saihara stops, and he decides to glance around. Nobody is looking at them (though he can feel watching eyes staring into him).

“Harukawa-san.” Saihara forces a smile back, sitting down. He pushes a strand of his hair back in an awkward motion, before glancing up at Harukawa. He’s confused why she is talking to him but it’s helpful he supposes, if he wants to try and understand what is going on with the letter (because it’s interesting, he finds).

“You’re still wearing that Monokuma jacket?” She notes, before clapping her hands with a laugh, “It’s almost like the one my boyfriend wears!” (And Saihara can’t help but wonder about Kaito Momota.)

“Ah. I see.” Saihara nods blankly before Harukawa takes his hands in her’s with a threateningly tight grip. “Er… you’re holding my hands.”

“Indeed so! Now, isn’t that just the strangest thing ever? I mean, it’s like, so weird! It’s almost like the “Kiss of Death”!” Saihara’s hair falls out of place again. “Y’know, that lipstick gun that goes like _Pew! Pew!”_ She makes shooting motions with her fingers, before laughing at herself.

“Ah… haha?” Saihara tries to force out a laugh, and he is pretty sure that only makes Harukawa laugh harder. (He pretends he doesn’t see her eyes flicker a dull brown before turning bright red.)

And their conversation fades with another. 

* * *

_415 days ago, night, 11:09 PM. Monday._

“Hello random person who happened to have called me. How are you today?” Saihara answers quickly before the person on the other end can respond. He was simply filling out empty questions of his homework with empty answers, so to exquisite shock, he feels cheery (and he can’t help but laugh at his own lie).

There’s a rustle, a snap, and a voice. “A-Ah! H-Hello, is this… um—”

“Baby hotline,” Saihara explains. And there’s eternal screaming on the other end. “Shuichi Saihara. And you are Ouma-kun. Nice to meet you.” There’s a scream from someone else in the background, and a dog barking. “And nice to meet your dog.”

“Uh- Wait—” The call abruptly ends, and Saihara stares at it for a moment before deciding he should probably go to bed soon. His room is a little of a mess though. Posters taken down and put back up again, trinkets of papers scattered on the floor, closet trashed.

He shrugs at that, body falling straight into rest as it hits the bed.

And then there’s a ring again. 

Saihara picks it up quickly, and there’s laughing at the other end.

“ _OhmygodwhatdoIsayandwhydoesthisweirdodoorknobknowaboutDICE—”_ Ah. The voice isn’t Ouma’s. It’s a boy younger than Ouma and speaks faster than Saihara can understand. There’s a small pause, and a glass-breaking scream at the other line, before, “Whyyyy… hellllo th—!” The person on the other line says in forced cheerfulness.

“Ah… Are you— Are you telling me to go to hell?” Saihara asks, and there’s more screaming on the other end. “Well then, I suppose I will—” And more screaming, a large snap noise. The call ends, and Saihara isn’t quite sure how to feel (and Saihara laughs at himself).

(And once more, the phone rings a familiar tone, and one more, Saihara picks it up again.)

* * *

_413 days ago, after school, 4:09 PM. Wednesday._

There’s a tap on his shoulder, and when Saihara turns around—

“Name’s Kaito Momota; the executioner of the stars!”

(And all Saihara can think is, _ah.)_

A body and something resembling a black bag on the floor, a ground-sweeping jacket with stars scattered around. A wide smile, tinted pink skin, hair in a bundle of gel caught into a spike. (Saihara stares, yellow eyes to eyes the colour of space.)

“Hello.” Saihara nods, putting out his hand. “Shuichi Saihara, first year in high school. Nice to meet you.” And Momota’s grin widens as if to resemble a devil. Saihara halts, before noting, “You go to school with me.”

Silence fills the air; Saihara decides to put his hand away. “Woah!” Momota’s eyebrows hit the ceiling of the sky, “Woah, woah— Wait, oh yeah... Oh yeah..!” Momota punches his fist. “That one girl— with the black hair and eyes— Yeah… Bro, dude, I think she has a crush on you!

“Yo, my guy, you totally should conf—” Saihara stops listening after he starts walking away. (though he doubts Momota even notices as he takes another step, because there’s a strange noise of something heavy dragging on the cement floor and he can’t hear any more words.

There’s a thump in the background.)

The walk there is quick after Saihara passes the lines of shops and the abnormal corner with Momota. A small thrift store. A flower shop. A cafe and _ah, this is the shop._

Saihara takes a quick look, up and down the place, before slowly blinking.

It’s painted white, a white worn down and coated again, graffiti on the bottom of the door, black-bordered windows, and a large sign hung up at the front with the word “DICE”. 

The door clangs a little when he opens them, and with a loud thump on checkered floors, he takes a step in. Eyes trace over him like a paper shredder, underneath painted white clown masks and straight jackets. A single checkered scarf reigns over.

“Why hello there! Welcome to…” his facade breaks like glass in hot water. _“O-Oh fuck.”_ It’s in a whisper (but Saihara can hear it because the noise echoes too loud and he swears his ears are playing tricks on him.) “Code red, guys, we got a code red.” Short, purple hair framing his mask, and a checkered scarf wrapped around his neck. A clown mask, concealing his face.

“Fucking finally!” Somebody else yells out, slamming a broom down on the floor. Their mask shows a frown; a little fitting, Saihara supposes. Somebody different, a second later mutters, "His hair looks like he's gay." And the person next to them elbows their shoulder.

"What— Wait the fuck, boss, we don't have this _code red."_ Somebody behind the counter grumbles over to Ouma. (Boss. Boss. Boss. It's like a rhythmic note beating over and over. But it _isn't.)_

"Actually, it's meant to be _Wait_ — _What the fu_ —" The one with her hair up in high ponytails, ripped shirt resting right around her thighs, corrects before getting interrupted by the former.

"No cursing in my house unless you're over 18."

The one with a frown on her mask, hair caught up to their knees shouts loud, "Whoo! Fuck! Shit! Uh—" She pauses for a moment before starting again, "Horse!"

"That's not a curse word!"

Ouma, slinging the clown mask to the side of his head gives a small, wavering smile to Saihara. As if it's some sort of stale replacement for an apology. “W-Why are you...—” _Madness._ He’s so very clearly mad. His voice goes to a whisper, “... Did Spades say anything?”

Saihara pauses, eyelids going shut for a moment. (Spades. Dice. Games. Saihara’s head hurts.) He pulls out a letter in his pocket and holds it to Ouma, who stares at him in confusion. Saihara tries not to think about how he’s rushing things. 

“Yeah. Yeah, they did.” Saihara says in a hurry, “Here; take a look at this.”

Ouma’s eyes fluctuate neon purple, glancing up at Saihara before fingers reach out to grab it.

(And he's doing this because it's rational.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saihara’s uncle’s office - He works between as a private investigator and for the police, and so does everyone in his office. I suppose that there are a bunch of private investigator switch-offs in that office building.  
> Black-masked People - (If you saw the original, you know :V) People in a group of one that goes around the place with black bags on their heads that seem to appear, tapping on someone’s shoulder before rapidly attacking them (And without consent too! Gosh, don’t you know you shouldn’t attack people without their consent?)  
> Danganronpa - Danganronpa in this is a series of famous TV shows that is barely legal, after being on a break for two years.  
> Saihara’s easy acceptance to a letter from the future - It appears he doesn’t fully trust it, but he is interested in what and who sent it to him.  
> Kaede Akamatsu - You may notice she is (very poetic? Weird? Yeah that’s slightly self-insert on how stupid I act sometimes) weird. Uh, she gets better, in a way  
> “Why live in shrubbery when you could have a throne?” - I was just thinking about tardigrades, you know? I got this line from Cosmo Sheldrake in the Tardigrade song. This means Saihara is asking something about DICE (er, it will come together in the next chapter, though if it doesn’t make any sense just ask me.)  
> “Good sir, why do you start; and seem to fear?” - Macbeth by Mr. Shakespeare. This is pretty straight forward, just asking why he is complaining since she finds no problem in the situation.  
> “Kiss of Death” - It’s a lipstick gun created in WWII. (Correction, cold war)  
> “Baby Hotline.” - Baby Hotline, please dial nine to get out! No flatline, what were you scared about? (Ha-ha-ha! What do you say? What do you do? Let’s begin!)  
> Time - MST time.


	2. Ultimate Supreme Leader {Part Two}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara and Ouma become associates, and Saihara meets another member of the cast.
> 
> **(END OF THE ULTIMATE SUPREME LEADER)**
> 
> Wait fuck shit I just realized how wrong the line above this sounds fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! Okay, another update. Panic mode. This chapter sucks because half of it was rushed and the other half is my usual writing which is curiously indecipherable as per usual. I procrastinated for this chapter so it has a few fewer words. 
> 
> So, in conclusion, this chapter sucks.
> 
> Okay, uh, anyways, thank you MeitanteiSaishuu, yuhudis, RoseFlora, Credens, DualityandEquality, Seracchii, grapesarenice, WakoCha, and shuki as well as 5 guests for kudos-ing! I actually recognize a few of you, strangely enough. O_O

_ 413 days ago, after school, 4:15 PM. Wednesday. _

Ouma skims through the letter, as though he was searching for something more than just the words, reading over and over as the room stayed in silence. He’s rustling through the paper with numb fingers and eye glaring holes.

“Are you done yet?” Saihara asks, fingers tapping on the table. After three long seconds, Saihara supposes that Ouma has lost his voice. He glances over with grey eyes to the people behind Ouma. “Did guys know that about one in thirteen people have anxiety?”

“W-Wait— I don’t have a-anxiety!” Ouma suddenly pipes up.

Saihara shrugs, leaning back into the chair. “I never said you did.”

Ouma blinks at him, before sighing, rubbing his head in a nervous motion. “... Why did you hand me this letter?” (Saihara won’t admit the truth, because his throat is burning up and his face is flushing warmer with an undeniably sick feeling on the uprise, and it’s almost as if the world doesn’t plan on letting him.) Saihara pauses, rubbing his neck.

“Because…” Bright yellow eyes. “I’m bored.”  _ (Lies lies lies lies—  _ and you learn to forget) Saihara remarks, and Ouma stares with wide eyes before sighing again. “You… are sighing quite a lot.”

“I m-mean, this— this is so..! Am I supposed to believe this!?” Ouma shouts, standing up abruptly. There’s a look in his eyes.  _ Fear?  _ Saihara can’t understand. Ouma slams his hand down on the letter. “This… has to be a lie.”  _ Doubt?  _ Saihara furrows his brows with a frown.  _ Confirmation? _

“What part don’t you like? The part where it says you get killed? The part where you get kidnapped? The part where your plan never worked? I think it was quite clever myself when the game started falling a—” Ouma interrupts him.

“Just stop! Just… I need to— I-I need to think.” Ouma explains, crossing his arms. “... I’ll ask questions when I c-can think reasonably.” He looks down at the checkered floor of the cafe, before shutting his eyes. “I need to… think.”

It’s quiet.

And Saihara leaves.

* * *

_ 412 days ago, school, 12:10 PM. Thursday. _

_ She giggles hard, hands running down her face with fingernails in her skin like metals knives.  _

_ She’s giggling because it’s so funny— so fucking funny that she thinks she’s going insane and she’s crying; it’s so amazingly hilarious that she’s crying. What’s funny? (Harukawa won’t tell) Harukawa doesn’t know and her memory is foggy and everything is fazing like burning butter and ohgodisshedying? Issheokay? Ofcoursesheisn’tbecauseofcourseshefuckingisn’tandshe’s— _

There’s a letter in her hands, coloured a bright horrible white and it’s drowning her alive as she runs out of air to get rid of.

It’s cold out here, on the roof with a huge white sign at the front reading “School Administrator’s Permission” and she has no idea what it means but it’s just so funny that her soul left her body and it’s painful everywhere and she doesn’t want to ever get off the roof (and she can’t say why because her voice hurts and everything is so, so cold).

She pulls on her necklace wrung around her neck, and with a sigh, she stuffs the letter down her jacket’s pocket and shivers as though she’s burning alive. 

Now that’s something to laugh at.

* * *

_ 410 days ago, after school, 3:02 PM. Saturday. _

Ouma isn’t here today. He wasn’t here yesterday. Nor the day after that. True to his word, it appears he is avoiding Saihara (and Saihara can’t blame him). Saihara isn’t sure what he was doing, handing the letter to him as though that would be rational.

Though he will admit it was a little fun.

His uncle is talking to someone else in the office about someone that was found dead in the building next to the German Bakery Shop off coast against the line of card shops. They’re up against a wall, voices low, but Saihara can still hear them as he shuffles through a mess of papers stacked on a desk.

Something makes Saihara pause.

Before he reaches down to his pocket to open the envelope Ouma forgotten when he abruptly left. He reads the line (the location is the same) and suddenly—

_ Suddenly it feels like there is much more to Ouma’s story than Saihara thinks there should be. _

* * *

_ 417 days ago, after school, 2:28 PM. Saturday.  _

There’s a long line of card shops, small and strange (and he doubts he will remember this in a week) like tardigrades. Colours scattered brightly around that don’t quite mix well together, and an alleyway with a hidden magic shop nobody seemed to ever notice. 

A bakery shop, reading _ “German Bakery”  _ something in another language with a red curtain sprayed across the shop. The lined buildings made the empty, beige building put awkwardly next to with lines of “Do Not Enter” seem out of place. 

Saihara glances around (Nobody, nobody, nobody; how convenient.) but as though he were in 2050, there was no one around. So he enters. He enters the beige building through the yellow tapes of “Do Not Enter”, weaving through and passing by the door.

“So…” Saihara glances at the envelope Ouma dropped, before glancing back up.

Like last time, the floor and walls were clean, evidence of anything happening here gone (he can’t help but feel his disappointment rising). It was almost suspicious, but then again. If that was true then wouldn’t everything be suspicious?

So Saihara checks the floor and looks around.

There really _is_ nothing here.

Saihara sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair before checking again once more.

_ But there really is nothing. _

He frowns, before leaving.

“Boring.” He mutters, before shuffling his envelope back in his pocket and going back through the yellow tape.

_ (There was a small organization that went around Japan (the police had yet to determine their main base), doing such things that a stereotypical mafia might partake in. The descriptions were less than abnormal, though it would be best not to partake in trying, Saihara figured. The name of this organization, "DICE". _

_ There was a small cafe nearby with the name "DICE", located down to the path to school next to a flower shop. They were an aesthetic cafe where people dressed up in straight jackets and clown masks, the floor painted checkered and the owner painted grey. _

_ There was a dice shop called "DICE" that sold D&D dice. They were off the main in the city, in a small corner street Saihara recognized where people wanted to rent instruments and graffiti painted the walls. _

_ There was a fashion model online that wore black and white clothes, classic games printed over. Their codename was "Queen" and they are hosting a fashion show that is rumoured to be in November called "DICE", and the money will be given to the "Ichigo Budõ Children's Hospital" _

He’s missing something.)

* * *

_ 407 days ago, weekend, 5:02 PM. Tuesday. _

Now that Saihara is focusing more and where he is, the place seems a little stranger than he remembers.

The floor is checkered-patterned, scattered along the floor and the walls painted a bright pearl white, matching the chairs. The tables are cloaked with different-coloured clothes. There’s a counter showcasing the size of drinks and cards, but they don’t seem too important for Saihara to take note of. Fluorescent lights are placed on the top. The cafe itself isn’t big, but it isn’t small either.

The people themselves wore awful straight jackets and differing clown masks covering their face, colourful buttons taped onto their clothes.  _ “Eccentric”  _ wouldn’t be the right word to use, but it wasn’t particularly strange either (It was familiar, and for that same reason he can’t admit  _ why). _

“So have you ever danced naked in the kitchen?” Saihara asks, leaning forward in the chair, elbows on the red cloth of the table. Ouma’s face shows his undeniable surprise. “You know what? Nevermind.” Ouma opens his mouth only to shut it back up again.

“I— I decided.” Saihara raises his head, “on the— the letter.” (Was there really anything to decide upon? Saihara isn’t sure anymore. “But… But I have a few… questions.” That’s reasonable enough.

Saihara raises an eyebrow, “Hit me with it.” 

“Okay, um…” Ouma takes a deep breath. “Where did you f-find the letter? If I can ask.” Saihara takes his mind back to the mail slip right in front of his uncle’s house, the morning when he got up, went out, and found the mailman getting ready to put it into the mail slip.

“It was at the door.”

Ouma frowns like he was expecting another answer. “Okay… Then, what does it mean?” Saihara shrugs. “Um… Why did you show it to me?” Saihara shrugs. “Er, do you believe it?”

Saihara pauses before shrugging. “Ah… Do you— Doesn’t this… remind you of Danganronpa?”  _ (Danganronpa? Danganronpa? Danganronpa?)  _ Danganronpa? “Be- Um,” Ouma glances to one of the clown-masked workers, matching the one around Ouma’s head. “Because of the way it sounds..?”

After Saihara doesn’t speak, he continues, “B-Because it says an anonymous figure k-kidnapped them” **‘** ** _Us’_** _, even though it isn’t them, but people they don’t know put into false memories of false thoughts in some—_ and some words go unsaid. “and p-put them in a… you know.” His voice falls into a whisper.

“Ah.” Is all Saihara can reply. “I never thought about it that way.” (He’s lying, gritting through his teeth with the ease of an actor.) The keywords  _ “Ultimate”  _ are erased from the letter, but it’s clear that this resembles that awful, obsessive game like cards in the same deck. (52 cards in a deck. There have only been 51 killing games.)

One of the workers— with pigtails wrapped around on their head, and some weird platter of awfully bright coloured-drinks that almost looks like poison charged with artificial colours and flavours — goes up to them with a wide smile underneath her mask.

“Hello. Welcome  _ dear  _ customers, you  _ looovely  _ customers,  _ wonderfully cool  _ customers!” The girl, with chestnut hair jumping up as she sets it down the bold bright colours of the strange coloured drinks (“Poison. Don’t drink it. Shuichi please don’t—” Saihara doesn’t remember). “I’m Hearts, hehe! Your beautiful gorgeous ser—”

“Doesn’t... Ouma-kun work here? Why are you introducing yourself?” Saihara asks, frowning.  _ “Hearts”,  _ if that’s her real name frowns with one hand on her cheek, tapping like a drum, back and forth and back and forth. Her eyes seem to hide something underneath, a secret? Saihara’s eyes shuffle around the cafe curiously. 

There’s something in their eyes, something they can’t tell, a secret? A secret. A secret that Saihara doesn’t know. (Saihara’s rationality goes down.) “Nevermind then. If you aren’t going to tell me, could you at least tell me what these drinks are..?” (A glass. A small shot glass with a bright, pink substance.)

Hearts tilts her head, puffing out her cheeks. “It’s a se~cr~et! Teehee! Trust me, Saihara-kun, it’s just a simple glass of our whole-hearted love—” Saihara furrows his brows, wondering why she knows her name.

Ouma interrupts her.  _ “We’re not doing this right now, Hearts.”  _ Hearts grins at that and taps at the platter before taking it. She takes a step away, before skipping over to two of the other people there around her height, giggling over a secret. “Er— I-I’m sorry about that… um… do you— do you think it could be Danganronpa?” 

Saihara thinks about it for a moment. 

“Sure.”

(His eyes alter to a pale yellow.

And there’s a secret behind his words, a secret as he sips the brightly-coloured drinks, a secret as he stares at Ouma. A secret in the letter;  _ DICE. Leader of 10 others. Spades. Hearts. Dice. Games. Saihara’s head hurts.) _

* * *

_ 406 days ago, after school, 4:02 PM. Wednesday. _

“I’m sorry.” His uncle mutters underneath his breath, though it’s still heard in the office where the bookshelves are stacked with files and papers had to be shuffled through the desk to be understood. Saihara looks up, Ouma sitting across the leather chair with a notebook pad in one hand.

“P-Pardon me..?” Ouma asks, not quite looking up.

“I’m sorry about what happened to your father. It’s truly horrible what happened to him.” His uncle continues with his voice going low. The scratching noise of his pencil remains in the air when he stops, to look up at Ouma. “It’s truly impressive though, that he managed a—”

“Ah. Ouma, you dropped your notebook.” Saihara says, leaning over to pick it up. (He takes a glance at the words, the words, scribbled in a mess that Saihara can barely read filling the paper too much without enough space.  _ “Shuichi Saihara doesn’t rem…”  _

Saihara’s head hurts.)

“O-Oh… Thank you, Saihara-kun. My hand must have slipped.” Ouma gives a wavering smile to him, taking it too hard. “Ah… I have to leave. Good—”

“There’s,” Saihara says, and the two other people in the office stare at him with waiting eyes. “um, there’s an envelope. I wanted to give it to you back. And a question.” Ouma seems curious before something flashes in his eyes.

_ Fear. _

“W-What..? Let’s—” Ouma glances at Saihara’s uncle. “Let’s talk about this outside of the building, then.” Saihara nods, picking up his bag and waving at his uncle, who suddenly seems less interested.

The walk outside is silent, the tapping noise on wood so loud it sounds like it will burst his ears.

“So, what did you want to say?” Saihara asks, “or ask.”

Ouma gives him a look for a moment before managing out, “You—  _ You were the person who wanted to ask me a question.”  _ Ah. Right. Saihara forgot.

“Right. Here, I wanted to give you this.” Saihara replies, handing him the envelope he found on the seat Ouma usually sat in the waiting room of the Detectives’ offices. Ouma’s eyes widen before he snatches away the letter with a frown. (He seems mad, eyes glowing a neon purple.) “And also, I wanted to ask a question.”

“As you’ve said.” Ouma hisses, stuffing the letter into his pocket. 

“What’s up with your uniform?” Saihara points out. Ouma seems a little stifled at the abrupt strange question before taking a glance at his uniform.

“What’s wrong with my uniform? It’s just a little big…” Ouma mutters, and his face goes blank for a moment. “Oh god…” Ouma’s hands shuffle through his pockets before sighing. “Uh, c-continue.”

“I’m talking about your scarf. Or the absence of the scarf.” Saihara explains further, poking at Ouma’s— Ouma backs up before Saihara can poke his neck. “You always wore that boring black gakuran outfit. But never the scarf.” Saihara is referring to the scarf he saw Ouma wear at the cafe DICE (They both ignore the reminder of how similar his outfit at DICE is.  _ White straightjacket, colourful buttons plastered to the shirt like ornaments, and a checkered scarf). _

“Never the scarf.” Ouma repeats, before sputtering out, “W-What— That’s, that’s so…” He stops talking, before starting to laugh, “That’s so— That’s s-so fucking stupid. What i-in your right mind makes you—”

“Ah.”

“So first of a— First of all, imagine you’re me Saihara-senpai. One day, some random person— j-just suddenly tries to talk with you, then pisses you off.” Saihara nods in understanding. “A-And then after.  _ After! _ After you come back, all of a sudden, they find where you live.”

“You live at —” Saihara stops, before nodding.

Ouma continues, “And then they hand you s-some letter, some stupid letter about the— I — fuck.” Ouma rubs his eyes in either frustration or amusement. 

“Hm… The past was always the worst. I offer my condolences, Ouma-kun.” Saihara says with a nod, glancing at Ouma’s bag. “Ah, you forgot your umbrella.” Ouma hesitates on his comical laughter to glance at his bag. It’s true, that he doesn’t have his umbrella he always seems to keep on.

After a minute passes, Saihara suggests, “I’ll go grab it.” 

Ouma nods, and Saihara heads back inside. The umbrella is in the waiting room, leaning against the chair in the corner Ouma usually sits in. He takes it before a minute could pass and heads back out.

* * *

_ 405 days ago, after school, 6:14 PM. Thursday. _

He’s wearing a checkered scarf today, Saihara notices.

“W-Why did you..?” Ouma opens his mouth to ask, giving a cautious glance at the rather strange clothes stuffed into Saihara’s closet. He frowns, and Saihara nods his head. They’re in his uncle’s house

“Hello.” Saihara begins.

Ouma glares, (His eyes. His fucking eyes. Neon purple. And Saihara can’t breathe when he’s staring at them, so he looks away) before the look once more fades. “We’re not doing this again.”

“Shuichi Saihara, 1st yea—” Saihara stops to deliberate for a moment. “Ah, right. So remember the names and the descriptions on the letter?” Ouma sluggishly nods. “Yeah, and remember how I saw you and—”

“Assaulted—”

“Talked to you? I recognized you from the letter.” Ouma knits his brows together. “Yeah. So Harukawa-san and Momota-kun, I talked to them once. Or twice.” (Though it feels like he’s talked to them more. He feels like he recognizes them somewhere. He feels like) Saihara’s head hurts a little. “I keep on forgetting to look up everyone else’s names, so you’re going to help me.” Ouma’s face sours more. “Oh yeah, and I also met Akamatsu-san.”

“Didn’t— D-Doesn’t the letter sounds like you had a crush on her or something?” Ouma asks, running a finger through Saihara’s table. He seems to note down the amount of dust. “God, this table…”

“So now we have to look up everyone’s name on the internet.” Saihara ignores Ouma’s question.

Ouma frowns, “That’s…” 

Saihara sits on his chair, leaning back and opening his laptop. “So… Let’s start with you.” (Saihara’s eyes flicker yellow in Ouma’s silent protests.) “There’s your f@cebook— You have f@cebook? Gosh.” Saihara hears Ouma shout. “And… just the other DICE members under your name. What a loner.”

“H-Hey, isn’t this an invasion of personal i-information..?” Ouma asks, fidgeting with his little too large gakuran.

Saihara shrugs, “Everything you put on the internet will be read by someone. So really, it’s not personal when you know you’re putting information about yourself.” Ouma seems bothered by that answer, but he remains silent. “There’s a picture of you with…”

“With who? Do you recognize someone?” Ouma perks up, sitting on the floor and taking out his umbrella; his umbrella, coloured with that strange pale colour and monochrome slapped down like a chocolate pancake. “And… how do you recognize them when you never met them?”  _ (He’s lying— fucking lying, why is he lying? What is he— _ Ah.)

Saihara halts his thoughts, “Not sure. I just  _ do,  _ and that’s not important. Anyways, he looks like the supposed Gonta Gokuhara.”

_ “S-Supposed..?”  _ Ouma breathes, “I swear, your head…”

Saihara waves his hand over at Ouma, though he doubts the latter can see it. “You’ve known me for 21 days—”

“Y-You’re counting!?”

“You’ll get used to it, Ouma-kun.” Saihara finishes, before adding, “Actually, don’t. It’s more amusing if you’re shocked.” He can feel Ouma glare at him for a moment. “So, Gonta Gokuhara, you know him?”

“Yeah, I kind of  _ do.  _ He’s the grandchild of the old lady by the shop over, you saw her once. She was over the second time you visited DICE.” Ouma reveals, and Saihara thinks back to the old woman who was sitting in one of the chairs. She didn’t resemble a thing to how the supposed Gokuhara looked. Ouma’s voice goes from sarcastic to scared. “What’s… What’s with that look on your face? And w-why are you putting your hand on your face..?”

Saihara glances down at his hand, which is covering his mouth. “Ah. I do that when I think too much.” Ouma scoffs at that. “So… can you tell me how he acts?”

“How he acts?”

“Yeah, remember how the letter talked about how everyone’s personality changed?” Ouma stutters out a yes. “Well, you notice that I’m less…” What? What is Saihara less of? He’s less scared? Less dependent? (He’s a freak.) “shy, and you’re less annoying, more… quiet. Cute?” Ouma eeps. “Something along those lines.” Ouma abruptly stands up.

“A-Ah. I see…” Ouma mutters. “Er, h-he… He’s quiet. But when he talks… mn, it’s k-kinda hard to explain.” Saihara tilts his head, as Ouma approaches him and glances over. “A-Are..? Wait, hold up, are you looking him up!?”

“Yea.” Saihara nods.

Ouma’s mouth goes agape with wide eyes at Saihara’s punctual answer. “W-Wait, don’t..!—”

“How neat. He doesn’t have any information on the internet.” Ouma makes an  _ “O”  _ with his mouth. “Well, uh, moving on. I wonder what shows up when I look up myself..?”

_ “Ohmygod,you’rekillingmeSaihara-senpai.”  _ Ouma hastily whispers. “Just— Ughhhh—  _ Oh my god, please, p-please just stop…”  _ Ouma arms fall to the chair Saihara is leaning back in, knitted brows (But Ouma isn’t touching him,  _ never touching because he knows, why does he know? What does he know?  _ Saihara pauses).

“I feel like I should be amused by that proposition,” Saihara discloses with a grimace. "I'm not."

Ouma forces out a robotic laugh at that. “Haha. I hope you do know I have to go before it turns nine, and this sounds like this will take a while.” Ouma’s voice, ironically or unironically enough, is snarky. And he pulls at his checkered scarf.

Instead, Saihara looks up Harukawa's name, making Ouma groan. “Don’t you already know her?”  _ (Casual. Too casual. Lie. Lying. He’s lying— He has been lying. Has he been lying this entire time? Was it all a lie?)  _ Saihara shrugs.

And their search continues.

* * *

_ 404 days ago, school, 3:31 PM. Friday. _

“You— _ Oh my god, he actually did that?  _ I’m surprised this school even accepted him.” Harukawa asks with eyes wide, covering her mouth; Saihara can still see her wide grin through a crack in her fingers. Her red jacket, waffle-knitted, is bright in the plain classroom of dull colours.

Saihara himself has noticed the drastic change in temperature outside though he still hasn’t changed the thin replacement of a jacket, his monochrome jacket. He takes a glance out the window— It’s raining. Funny, since it wasn’t during lunch.

Though Saihara doesn’t laugh. Instead, he picks up his bag with abnormal buttons only people who knew Danganronpa would recognize (Everyone knew. Everyone knew, it’s just nobody admits to it. Everyone saw. Everyone watched. Nobody confesses.) and smiles at Harukawa as she precipitously takes Saihara’s wrist in a compressed hold.

“Yeah. Momota-kun seemed rather passionate about trying to beat up that one person for some reason.” He doesn’t say how there was a black bag around the person’s head, he doesn’t talk about how his first meeting with Momota he  _ felt fear.  _ Instead, he reminisces about the person Momota swiftly managed to knock out the person, and that introduction…

Saihara wonders why Momota even knocked the black-masked person out for Saihara, the moment before Saihara went to hand Ouma that envelope. “... Why are you asking, Harukawa-san?” 

Harukawa giggles at that, red eyes piercing into his own. “Because it’s—”  _ Why is she giggling so much?  _ Saihara doesn’t know. “It’s so funny!”

“Ah.” Saihara’s mouth moves on its own accord. “I understand.” He doesn’t, but it appears Harukawa is too busy filling the classroom with loud, painful noises of forced overplayed laughter. “Have fun I guess? Suppose? Uh, keep on—” Saihara ponders whether he should really say his next line, before deciding against it with a shake of his head. “Keep on being you.”

“I will!” She says with a smile, throwing her bag over her shoulder. “And you keep doing that detective skit because it really is making me laugh!” She steps out of the room. Just like that, the room falls into an awkward silence.

Detective skit?

_ (Ah. _

_ Ah, fuck.) _

Saihara glances at his pocket, inside, a small letter that holds information of interest to him.

Sometimes, Saihara thinks, some things just don’t add up.

He shakes his head once more before nimbly walking out his classroom. The school halls are a bit of a maze, and he has a truly hard time remembering where to go some days (He has a hard time remembering things. Saihara, with his dreadfully forgetful mind. Saihara, with his broken brain.) 

Today, he remembers in vivid thoughts where to go, so out he heads. And just as he remembers, the sky is crying tears of some kind. He takes a moment and wonders what bullshit poetry he’s spouting, before laughing at himself.

If he can run, he can make it outside the gate and give a quick visit to the old Triple Seven nearby. Though to Saihara’s unfortunate self, he cannot run in the mud, or on the wet pavement. Someone— abnormal darker skin too pale, bleached hair with concerning thin threads tied to her front (She looks eerily familiar. And—  _ Eureka?)—  _ trips to the dry cement of the school while running. 

“Ah—” Saihara has a sudden urge to call out. Not because he’s a good person,  _ god no,  _ but because he recognizes her. “Hey, are you alright!?” Some people look at him weirdly, with knowing looks in their eyes as they stare before opening an assortment of umbrellas.

_ The supposed Angie Yonaga. _

She lifts her face, that long dandelion-coloured jacket wrapped around her and it’s almost laughable how she resembles a dying flower. Her eyes are the colour of the ocean, flashing electric blue. She opens her mouth to speak but as the rain drips down, no words come out.

“Uh— _ shit.”  _ Saihara mutters as he paces over to her. "Are you dead? If you're dead, please say so." Yonaga spits at someone else's feet, and Saihara's hair falls out of place.

"He deserved it. Cheated on his essay with one of those apps where you pay someone to do it for him, and got an A+. Got addicted  _ real fast.  _ Also, he assaulted his girlfriend, Ah, but I don't have to worry about you since you're gay."

Saihara stares, before pushing his hair back and helps Yonaga get up. The rain makes what she said seem so reasonable, dripping down on the two like a hose. (Though what she said is really not.) "Er… Actually, I'm bisexual."

Yonaga's eyes widen in understanding. "But right now, you have a crush on a certain male—" Saihara's breath becomes panicked as he suddenly feels less interested and less bored, and rather something else. Embarrassment was never something Saihara enjoyed, personally. "You don't want to talk about it."

"So you've figured," Saihara mumbles with a frown, weaving a hand through his hair. It's wet, of fucking course it is. Oh well. Saihara should shower anyways. "Hello."

"Shuichi Saihara, first year in high school, sits in class 1-B. Likes to read detective novels with bloody details and watches Danganronpa because it is his current interest. Tended to be a loner, but lately has been talking to middle schooler Ouma Kokichi and high schooler Maki Harukawa." Yonaga sighs with a sluggish movement in her arms, hand out as the rain drops on it. "I'm Angie Yonaga, though I know you already know that, don't you?"

Before he can say anything, she adds, "It's rhetorical."

And then adds once more, "We'll meet again later, at an appropriate time Saihara-kun. But right now, you have to go and say hello to Ouma-kun waiting by you at the gates." Saihara glances over to see that is true, that there is a small teenager with a Danganronpa umbrella up and stupid purple hair and a stupid checkered scarf.

It's interesting, Saihara thinks, as Yonaga once more tries to run before tripping. He thinks about helping her up for a moment before deciding he doesn't need to talk to her anymore, it's not rational anymore.

So he goes up to the person at the gate and waves him a smile. "Hello, Ouma-kun."

Ouma's eyes go wide. "Wow. I did not know you could give a normal introduction. Should I say congrats or should I say  _ Why the fuck didn't you do that in the first place Saihara-senpai?"  _ He isn't— (He realized, as if in an instance of thought paralysis fixed) He isn't fucking bored of Kokichi Ouma.

"Kinky," Saihara says as Ouma lifts the umbrella to him, and Ouma almost drops it when he makes a noise between dying and dying. "Ah, are you okay Ouma-kun?" Ouma glares at him, their hands touching for the slightest moment. (for the first time, Saihara notices. Too swift to remember.) Ouma doesn't seem to notice.

"I— I'm in  _ middle school,  _ and you— y-you're like in, uh, wait, give me a second. One year above me, Saihara-ch— Saihara-senpai." Ouma tries to explain, fidgeting with his hair.

Saihara yawns, "Anyways, I met Yonaga-san. She was… how does one describe it? She can spit." Ouma stares at him with aghast drizzled to his face. "Let's go to my house today. I have to shower."

"D-Did she spit on you..? And wait! Hey! Aren't you going to question how I came here unannounced!?" Ouma worries, putting his finger rather close to Saihara's shoulder, before taking it back.

"Hm… I'm bored." (He's drowning in lies.) "Hey Ouma-kun, she said I was gay." Saihara tilts his head over at Ouma.

Who seems plausibly shocked to the core, blush running down their face. "H-Huh!?"

"Anyways, time to go."

"W-What!?"

* * *

_ 403 days ago, after school, 4:01 PM. Saturday. _

The window glares, shining bright in her face in an unsure manner.  _ Digress, Digress, let us breathe _ . Akamatsu laughs at her horrible try at poetry. She was never good. Never good enough at anything, and all she can do is try.

She tilts her head up at the raindrops on the car's window and stares out as she wonders about her life.

(A torn letter in her hand, she'd rather not try to think.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So have you ever danced naked in the kitchen? - Friends.
> 
> The past was always the worst - Youtube, Business Blaze, Criminal Darwin Awards, September 6th 2020 around 8 AM in MST time. If you know, you know, if you don’t, then   
>  _  
>  ah.  
>  _
> 
> “coloured with that strange pale colour and monochrome slapped down like a chocolate pancake” - I had pancakes the day I wrote this line, okay???
> 
> Triple Seven - It’s a Persona Reference.
> 
> “I’m surprised this school even accepted him.” - So Momota goes to Saihara’s school, and so does Yonaga, unlike the original how it had Yonaga and Momota go to a school rather far where Saihara had to take the subway to get to. It’s for a plot reason, to even something out with the characters and try and perform a stranger friendship ritual— is that a thing? Friendship ritual. That sounds weird. It was also because I was bored and wanted to shake it up a lil :|
> 
> Harukawa - O_O
> 
> Ouma’s umbrella - Yeet. So his umbrella is like, perhaps a representation or just a small add-on to his character self. I don’t know. You guys try to decipher, because my head is empty and I don’t think because I’m too busy thinking about kinnies now.   
>  _  
>  Thanks,  
>  _  
>  Justie.
> 
> Ouma - He’ll slowly start to get more comfortable. I note that he doesn’t like being touched for a reason. Uh, and also, he just gets more sarcastic and casual which I think will be weird for me to write a little but okay. Also, note that I’ve never written falling in love.
> 
> Yonaga - She’s, uh, give her some space. And   
>  _  
>  no,   
>  _  
>  I am totally not going to use the fact she seems to not pay attention and keeps tripping because of it (I’m pretty sure that’s not clumsiness and just a lack or reaction to surrounding.)


	3. Ultimate Assassin {Part One}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saihara is a mess, too many plans and too many thoughts and too many unidentifiable emotions. Ouma is saying too many apologizes, for all the wrong reason. Harukawa laughs too much.
> 
> And with motion comes action. It's just a little too much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the late chapter. Stiff has been goin down since school finally started, and I have my crush's number now, and hang out with her at lunch, and got donuts for a class of seven, and my teacher is cool and I had a really bad day on Sunday.
> 
> On another note, thank you emery_honeybee, kokozij, tateragi, lumiilux, and two guests for kudos-ing!! I really appreciate it guys. :)

_401 days ago, school, 8:35 AM. Monday._

Maki Harukawa.

She’s popular, doesn’t have any friends though. Something is going on underneath, there has to be Saihara figures. Harukawa laughs too much, too many times, over and over and over and it’s sickening. A bubbly personality easy to set off; likes to gossip about others, despite no one to talk to. She comes to the roof for unknown reasons, stares at the plants, wears the same red jacket every day with a necklace hidden underneath her clothes.

Her eyes flicker brown, a dull colour that’s almost a disappointment. (Nobody else seems to notice, as he peaks through his books to stare. _Nobody.)_

She has a boyfriend. Not Momota, though it appears she knows him from somewhere.

Saihara interviewed a few people to ask if anyone could add anything else. The reaction was revealed little to none. Most people recognized her name, but never close.

“Harukawa-san? She’s cool. Do we talk? No. The reason? I don’t know.” Nothing to note.

“We talked once, uh— that was it. Nothing else.” Nothing to note.

“Yeah, I know her. We were friends in Elementary. I heard she used to have a best friend back in middle school, I don’t really know. I was back over middle school in the opposite of the city.” Saihara stares before thanking the person answering in a quiet voice. They give him a funny smile. (They’re hiding something, Saihara knows. He doesn’t say but watches with yellow eyes as they walk away. Black hair. Black eyes.)

“Why are you asking me? Can you leave me alone?” Nothing to note.

“Ah… You’re the— You’re that one guy who —” Saihara stopped listening after that, walking away.

Not much information to make note of. Only a small mention of an unknown best friend that when Saihara asked the girl in question, she just stares at him for a long second before laughing at him like he asked something stupid. 

(It’s not stupid, it’s not because it feels like she’s hiding something— It feels like everyone is hiding something.)

Saihara tries to remember what it was like back in middle school, but it’s hard when his head is full of thoughts and his eyes hurt for some strange reason. Everything seems to have blurred out, now that he’s thinking of it. It’s strange, but not particularly unusual.

He has more important things to think about anyways.

 _“Hey!”_ Someone shouts in the background, voice loud right close to his air. “Saihara-senpai, are you dead?” _Ah, there’s only one person who calls him that._ Saihara’s eyes convert back to a dull grey as he finds to much surprise, Ouma is right next to his ear.

“Ah. I guess I am.” Saihara breathes, realizing that he would have to meet Harukawa’s boyfriend. But how, was the question, due to the fact Harukawa talked more about others than herself and seemed to avoid even the mention of her hair conditioner. 

Perhaps Saihara should try to search up Harukawa’s information again… Ah, but when he did last time, it seemed she didn’t change anything on that. He could try asking her directly again… but it seems to no avail would she give any more information than laughing at his face.

Saihara’s head hurts.

“Ah!” There’s a ding in his head, and he just realized the most rational thing to do. (Would it really be rational? He isn’t sure anymore.) “Ouma-kun, I just came up with an idea!” His head precipitously turns to Ouma, who seems to have backed up before Saihara even noticed.

Ouma stares at him with an unsure look, before hesitantly asking, “Y-Yeah..? What’s y-your idea?” Pauses, before pointing out in a clearer, “You seem excited, Saihara-senpai. It’s.. weird.” Saihara doesn’t focus on that sentence.

“I could just look at Harukawa’s backpack,” Saihara says, eyes widening with excitement. Like a real detective. 

Ouma raises an eyebrow, though Saihara is _pretty_ _sure_ Ouma knows. “... Please tell me consensual.” Saihara thinks about it for a second, and it passes almost too quickly. He does a useless shrug and—

 _"You motherfucker."_ Ouma hisses, arms crossed. "I mean, at least ask for consent! Make an attempt! Instead of whatever you keep on doing!? It’s so, _so wrong—”_ Saihara ignores Ouma and continues thinking about situations of what time would fit.

_Cafeteria._

_Gym._

_After school._

Saihara frowns as he thinks some more, Ouma scolding about something in the background.

“Y-You’re… You’re going to do it. aren’t you?” Ouma asks.

Saihara nods, one hand on his chin. Ouma sighs as though used to it.

"Please just— j-just… do your homework." With a small smile Saihara forced on, he nods.

(They’re in a public library, someone notes from behind a bookshelf. She sighs, scratching her neck and walks out, not quite sure what to do anymore. But still, the plan will work. Soon, she will feel alright.)

* * *

_400 days ago, school, 12:30 PM. Tuesday._

_Cafeteria._

That is Saihara's first plan. (He isn't really sure if he wants to do this. But he won't admit it. He won't admit it because he's enraptured by Harukawa's secret.) 

First step. Wait. Wait until Harukawa leaves the perimeter and no one is around. That will be hard to do because some people stay in the classroom instead of going to their friends. Though he already came up with a plan.

Not counting Harukawa herself and Saihara as well as the usual absent, there are around thirty-two students today.

Twenty-eight students usually left for somewhere else, perhaps off the school site to eat other food. The same person always places an apple on the teacher’s desk for reasons Saihara doesn’t understand, the same twenty-eight people always left the classroom. It was a habit for everyone.

Those people were not who Saihara needed to worry about. What he needed to worry about were the four usual people who tend to stay in the classroom: Asami Hikari, Yuko Hiraoka, Yasuo Oka, and Izanagi Tao.

Asami Hikari tended to cover her face with her hair, large glassy lenses as she focused on a detailed paper about homework. Or something. Saihara doesn’t pay attention, he just writes down words from context clues and gets them right. She wouldn’t notice him stealing something from the backpack behind her.

Yuko Hiraoka was more focused on talking to the person to her right, Izanagi Tao. They were both rather talkative and would pay attention if he were to check Harukawa’s backpack. Though the two often go out to get a drink.

And then there’s Yasuo Oka. Saihara isn’t worried about Oka because they don’t snitch; he doesn’t know why he possesses this information, but he has to admit it’s helpful. (He’s so close, so close to remembering why he knows this, but it only enhances his headache.)

Five minutes in; it’s 12:35 PM.

Saihara enacts his plan.

“Ah… Pardon me.” Saihara speaks up, glancing up from his food. “Can you two get something for me? I'll pay you back." Curiosity. Turning into recognition. Confusion. Then back to curiosity. Basic human traits that make them hesitate. That wasn't what Saihara needed at the current moment. What he needed was to make snap decisions. 

Because really, Harukawa wasn't as predictable as one would think. She didn't have a certain pattern most of the time, she picked or achieved the key to the roof somehow somewhere, she knew a lot about weapons (the weird ones, with malfunction and useless uses and a little broken to be called a weapon). She was different from what Saihara imagined. Giggly, like a poppy bubble.

"It's a drink on the second floor. Vending machine. The purple drink, what is it called..? Panta, or something like that." Saihara says, handing them more than why they need.

"Sure, Saihara-kun?" Hiraoki says with a crease on her brows, pulling on the other's arm. He complies, taking a small glance at Saihara before leaving. 

That left him with two others.

And then Hikari speaks up, “If you, um, wanted someone to get your drink I could’ve gone. I was just going to the restroom.” That’s a lie. She’s looking straight at him, glasses covering her eyes. But her mouth is quivering in an unnatural way with her eyes a little too dilated.

(Why is she lying?)

Saihara thinks for a moment, touching his desk before saying, “Well, bye then. Have fun in the restroom.” Hikari pauses, before silently nodding. The taps of her footsteps slowly fade.

Saihara glances over at Oka, their mask covering their mouth, penetrating gaze. They’re staring at him as though expecting Saihara to do something, as if he _knows._

He stares back at Oka before turning his head. It wouldn't be rational to wait. Soon, Hiraoka and Tao would come down. Twenty seconds pass before Saihara glances at Harukawa’s backpack, approaching it and—

Someone giggles.

(It’s so predictable, really. Saihara tries not to think about it.

The drink when the two others return, is warm. But it reminds him of something somewhere, so he drinks it.)

* * *

_399 days ago, after school, 4:45 PM. Wednesday._

Yesterday, Saihara tried. He failed. Texted Ouma. No reply. So he waited until they were to meet again.

And now here they were.

“I-It… didn’t work, right?” Ouma asks with a reluctant look on his face. His eyes glance around, flickering around Saihara’s uncle’s office with a nervous look Saihara can’t quite describe. Afraid. Agitated. Apprehensive. Jittery. Skittish. None of those words seems to match up.

Saihara nods, an apathetic glimmer in his eyes. “Two more tries.”

Ouma scoffs, “What is this..? L-Life isn’t a video game,” He pauses, before adding. “Saihara-senpai.” Saihara isn’t paying attention to Ouma anymore, and once more his head is adrift in thoughts.

“You two…” Saihara’s uncle speaks up. (He must have noticed, Saihara tells himself. He must have noticed Ouma, the strange timing of Harukawa and Akamatsu, the random and awkward conversation Momota shared. _No,_ it’s all in his head again. Nobody knows. Not yet. 

But maybe he's lying to himself again.)

"Nevermind." His uncle sighs, creasing his forehead as he goes back to staring at his paperwork. "You two… continue with your antics. It's nice to see the kid with a friend." 

"A-Ah…" Ouma's face runs into a panic. "Right, f-friends." _Friends._ Saihara ponders what Ouma sees him as, with one hand fumbling on a piece of paper. He holds a tight grip as he finishes his homework.

And they continue stiff conversation with one another.

Saihara thinks about what he asked of Hikari. Poor, poor Hikari. 

He's bored now.

* * *

_398 days ago, school, 3:04 PM. Thursday._

_Gym._

Gym is later in the day, the last period. 

Today they have it inside, due to the dropping temperature. Snow came late this year, right after Saihara's uncle dropped Ouma off at that DICE cafe yesterday. He's surprised, only by a margin, as the heavy rains outside seem to subside for a second. 

"So everyone, separate into two groups! Girl for girl and boy for boy. Well, start with stretching exercises. Ten seconds on the clock." The gym teacher yells though it's clear they don't want to be here.

Saihara pairs up with someone, he forgot their name, or maybe he never learned it. They make no small talk, only the small fill-in conversation from the others fill the air. It's cold in the gym, no surprise, and he shivers when the teacher calls again.

He sees Hikari ask to go to the bathroom, and before a second of the time the gym teacher answers, she's already dashing to the door. 

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Ten.

She's officially skipped gym class.

When she comes back, Harukawa is smiling wide with pale skin and red eyes. 

Her eyes have always been so, so red. And something dings upon Saihara (actually, he thought of this ages ago back when he was talking to Ouma. He knew. But denied. Denied because it was less predictable.

Harukawa's eyes seem almost dizzyingly unclear when they turn a dull red for a moment. His theory it seems is close to the truth.

But he needs more evidence, so he has to pause.

This one was another fail.

(He forgot Harukawa doesn't participate in Physical Education.)

* * *

_397 days ago, after school, 3:34 PM. Friday._

So far, the walk has been silent. It’s chilly out, the sky is cloudy and the air is colder than it was yesterday. It’s going to rain tonight probably, so they should get done with this fast. Ouma, as usual, is wearing his uniform, layered in a single large jacket and an umbrella in one hand.

Ouma opens his mouth, before shutting it again. He opens it once more and says, “I— I hope you fail next time. We’re… going to the library again. I asked your guardian and they said we could… y-you know.” Sahara feels the need to point out that _no, he has no idea whatever Ouma is talking about._

“Hm, yeah.” Saihara nods. “Thanks, Ouma-kun. Now, what’s your plan when all mine fail?” His voice is flat, and Ouma seems to flinch. _(Why is Ouma flinching?)_ After a long pause of silence, Saihara notes down. “You don’t have any idea.”

“Haha… S-So you noticed.” Ouma awkwardly stutters, eyes not quite looking at Saihara. “Oh, let’s stop here. I need to get something at the 777.” He doesn’t say what.

Saihara pauses when Ouma walks over to the building near, it's a convenient store. The building is rusted, old, though Saihara can’t seem to remember if it was always there. Maybe he just never visited it. Maybe he just never saw.

He guesses the only thing he can do is follow.

The convenience store is small, and there are barely any important items in here. Saihara roams the shelves and in the corner of his eye, he sees Ouma grab a small magazine. Large in his hand, it seems to be something about Danganronpa. 

It’s only November 11th, forty-two days since they first met. (Saihara can’t understand why his head is so light-headed, and he can’t tell if he’s lying anymore. Lying to himself. Lying to everyone else. It will all make sense in the end, so he supposes it doesn’t matter.)

**“Danganronpa starting again!? Two years of absence, a sudden appearance bringing them to the front light! What’s going on? Read more to find out!”**

They look at each other, yellow citrine and amethyst, and stare.

But they don’t talk about it. Nobody ever talks about it. And the rest of the walk is abnormally silent for the two. They don't even make note about how instead of going to the library, Saihara just brought Ouma to the cafe.

It rains, and Ouma hands him the item he bought, a black umbrella.

Ouma is twirling his hair, eyes fraying off somewhere else. "H-Here… Er, ah… I knew it was going to rain so—" if there could be such a thing, Saihara believes he would be the Ultimate Interrupter. He would do that so well.

"Thanks, Ouma." Saihara smiles, for the first time genuine. Happiness. Joy. Appreciation. No, not one of those. It's hard for Saihara to pinpoint. (Though it's really not, he's lying to himself again. Or maybe he isn't and he really doesn't know. It's hard for Saihara to tell when his head feels jumbled and his thoughts are melting.

He remembers for a second.

And forgets.)

As Saihara grabs the umbrella, he can't help but notice his hand is shaking. Still. It has been for a while. It's almost funny, what happens after that when Ouma grabs his hand to hold it as though on instinct. It's the second time they've made skin contact.

Ouma rushes away before Saihara can say anything. Not that there was much to say anyway, so Saihara doesn't mind.

That feeling he had is still there. 

* * *

_396 days ago, after school, 3:31 PM. Friday._

"You're really trying to do something, huh?" Harukawa whispers, leaning over when she pulls Saihara's wrist into a painfully tight hold. "Hah, amusing as always, Saihara-kun!" Her red eyes glare at him, and he's not too sure if that's on purpose.

"Class just ended, Harukawa-san. I just want to go and—" _talk_ _to_ _Ouma_. Saihara pauses at his irrationality. It would be best to speak to someone else because really, Ouma isn't helping much. (Saihara thinks back to the silence about Gokuhara in the letter before they were searching up everyone.) "talk to someone."

Harukawa giggles, letting go of Saihara's wrist. He takes a moment to stare at the red mark painting his wrist. "Well! Surprise surprise, hehe! I'm someone." Her hands raised in the air and a wide smile on her face, she laughs.

"So—"

"You know, you could have just asked me if you wanted to see my backpack! I'll let you know the average size of a British butter knife is 20 centimetres." Harukawa says, leaning over the desk. Everyone is leaving the classroom at the moment, too distracted to hear the excited rambles of Harukawa's knowledge on the small kitchen knife.

She pulls her backpack over the desk, only large enough to fit the essentials. A notebook, a few textbooks, a good amount of pencils— the basic student pack items; only notebooks were in her bag. 

Saihara looks up, and she's smiling as though she knows.

"Did you find what you were looking for, Saihara-kun?" Harukawa asks, her tone energetic. She bursts into a fit of giggles. "Oh? No? Well then!" Harukawa claps her hands, pulling her backpack away from him.

Her hand is on her face as she continues, light and airy. "Saihara-kun, what were you searching for? Hm? Hm? _Hm?"_ Saihara realizes that by the time he blinks, she's already leaving. Where? Saihara isn't sure, but Harukawa left her backpack on the chair in front of Saihara.

“Ah…” She kept her phone in her jacket then. 

Saihara almost smiles at the funny situation, but he doesn’t when he picks up Harukawa’s backpack. She’s probably in the bathroom then (panicking, Saihara deduces but doesn’t want to point out. She shows signs of anxiety. He knows how it feels, though he isn't sure why.)

The backpack itself is old, nothing of worth. But it probably means something to Harukawa.

He escapes the long halls of the school to find himself in the dreary state outside. The weather is cold, certainly at this time of year, and it looks like it will rain later. It's been raining a little less this year Saihara notices, so it would be good to get some more rain.

Ouma is waiting like it's normal for him to wait, and Saihara has to applaud him in this cold weather. He's wearing more layers today, casual clothes. It looks good on him, in the way where you say an overlayered small dog taking a walk with its owner.

"Did… I-I… I'm speechless, Saihara-senpai." Ouma whispers with wide eyes, handing his umbrella over to Saihara. It's so the taller can get less rain. It never really works though, since Ouma is keen on not getting touched. "You… called me a dog…"

"Think more punctually, Ouma-kun. An _overlayered dog_ talking a walk with its owner." Saihara corrects, "So, the library today." Ouma glances over at the extra backpack Saihara is holding before slowly nodding.

"Library." He repeats like an imposter. "Then after we can go to your house. Your uncle… said someone was at the office; doesn't want us to interrupt." Blonde hair. Faded eyes. Saihara head twinges a spring and he shivers in the cold air of the rain.

Saihara's shoulder is wet when they arrive, a little cold, a little wet, a little warm, and they both seem dangerously comfortable with this routine caused by an alleged letter from the future and a freak. (A freak. A freak? Why would he call himself that?)

They sit down at their usual table, over by the corner next to the window spot. Not many people were here today so they didn't have to sit next to each other, but they still did. "So— Er, Who's backpack is that, Saihara-senpai?" His voice is in a quiver as always, like he's shivering. This time, he doesn’t stutter though.

"Oh. Harukawa’s.” Saihara explains, “She left the classroom so I thought I would give her backpack back to her tomorrow.” He pauses, before saying, “She gave it to me. But it doesn’t have anything important in it.”

Ouma stares at Saihara for a second before sighing, pulling out a textbook from his bag. “Okay. I really don’t care enough… I-I’ll just, I don’t know, do my homework like a normal person and not think about that. M-My head hurts anyway...”

“Your head hurts? Why?” Ouma glares at Saihara. “Ah. I’ll get you a drink then.” 

Saihara stands up, and when Ouma doesn’t complain, he walks over to the vending machine nearby. Ouma mumbles something behind him but he isn’t paying enough attention. (He never does, _he never does because there’s never enough to pay attention to, his head somewhere else.)_

Panta, a bright plastic purple coloured drink. He slots the coin in and with a thud, the can he was eyeing falls into his hand.

He begins to shake it when someone taps on his shoulder, and when he glances over— Ah. There’s someone he doesn’t know. Dark blue eyes and brown hair, brushed to the side of his face as he smiles in a confused way.

“Pardon me, but do you know Maki?”

Saihara doesn’t recognize him. 

“Can you answer..?”

Saihara doesn’t _recognize him._

“Oh, I should probably introduce myself since you look confused. My name is Hikaru Kondo. I recognized your backpack since, um, funny story, my ex had the exact same thing. Sorry if—” Saihara suddenly recognizes him.

His eyes pause yellow when Kondo stops talking, mouth twitching a small smile. He rubs his neck as he continues, “S-Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear my sob... story… um. Yeah, sorry.”

“Hello.” Saihara starts, holding out his hand. “Shuichi Saihara, 1st year in high school. Nice to meet you.” Kondo takes his hand into a shake, though his face declares that he’s utterly confused. “I actually know your girlfrie… ex? I actually know her. She trusted me to carry this since it seems like someone was making fun of her. But that’s only what I heard.” 

He’s not lying, but his mouth is burning _(burning? Burning? Burning?)_ like he is.

That reminds him of Harukawa, and he is so close to laughing he opens his mouth. Nothing comes out, of course, and he only speaks instead. “If you’re free, could you talk more about Harukawa-san? She’s… er, a little inclusive and I would really like for her to not feel like that.” Kondo frowns, nodding with his eyes hanging melancholy. 

“Of course… I bet she would like that.” Kondo looks at him with a small smile, and Saihara forces one back.

He’s lied so much today. 

(He’s not lying. He’s really not lying, because it’s just the distorted truth and missing parts and— he hates how a small voice in his head knows he’s denying it’s a lie. _He hates how bored he feels, how bored he is even though he’s interested and excited and he can’t explain the feeling he is feeling.)_

And as the two males reach their destination to the table one step over the window, Ouma frowns. His fingers are tapping on the desk, a large unsure look in his gleaming purple eyes.

“Saihara-senpai… _you fucking bastard.”_

(He never gave the brightly purple coloured can to Ouma. A perfectly good drink thrown away.

_A bright coloured pink drink held out with a choice heavy in his mind and it hurts, hurts, hurts his head so he tries not to think about it, but, of course, it’s still there. He can’t remember what comes next— Next? Next? What is he saying?_

_He takes a deep breath and—)_

And Saihara finally laughs.

* * *

_396 days ago, after school, 5:23 PM. Friday._

“So what can we conclude about Harukawa-san?” Saihara asks. Ouma doesn’t answer, only rolling his head on Saihara’s pillow with much less a single thought. “Ouma-kun? Ouma-kun, are you dead? Ouma-kun, I think you’re dead. Ouma-kun, I think I’m dead. Oum—”

 _“You hurt my head.”_ Ouma groans, “I just— I just want to have a normal day, a _normal day_ with you. Then all this talk about this letter… a-about all this letter stuff! I mean, I get you’re an anxious pers—”

“I’m not an anxious person. I just have tendencies to focus more on things I want to focus on.” Saihara describes, and Ouma’s eyes glare into him. 

“So it’s clear she never told you her _boyfriend_ was her _ex._ And I know she was bullied in middle school because of someone now. Hey, Saihara-senpai, doesn’t this just seem a little too personal though? Isn’t this all a little too touch on?” Ouma’s hand falls off Saihara’s bed, barely staring into Saihara’s eyes.

And he doesn’t respond.

Saihara jots his new learned facts down in his notebook, his mechanical pencil the only noise while Ouma— Saihara isn’t watching Ouma. He doesn’t know. The small words scrawled in messy handwriting, _his handwriting,_ seem more interesting right now.

_Maki Harukawa || Assassin_

_High school, 1st year. The timeframe when the killing game stats is when she’s in high school, 2nd year._

_Elementary: Was popular enough. Talked a lot. Was normal._

_Middle School: Was bullied by someone. Became quiet. Nobody talked to her much. She met Kondo-san and became attached. Then he dumped her and they just became friends. Somewhere around this time, it seems Harukawa started wearing her necklace._

_High School: Laughs too much._

Barely enough information about what Saihara wants to write down. He’s never been too good at writing, never been too good at jotting down the thoughts in his head; he could ask Ouma, of course, but it appears Ouma would rather sulk than work on anything.

“If you want, we could go somewhere you want tomorrow. After school, I mean.” Saihara tells Ouma. Ouma looks up from where he’s sitting, eyes flickering a bright glow before dimming. He’s almost like a cat, Saihara thinks. 

“I-I’ll just— It was my fault. I was being too brash again.” Ouma apologizes. (He really doesn’t need to, since it was Saihara’s fault anyways. Everything— All of this, it’s his fault; the meeting with Ouma, going to the school roof, killing his aunt. 

He doesn’t say anything though.)

Saihara never says what’s on his mind.

* * *

_395 days ago, before school, 6:38 AM. Saturday._

Saihara had a nightmare last night.

He forgot what it was, but he doubts it was important anyway. It would be more rational to focus on Ouma today. It wouldn’t make sense to focus on some nonsensical thought he had when sleeping. (He still thinks about it though, because he can’t help the unreliability of his wandering mind.)

Saihara gets up, showers, brushes his hair, puts on his clothes, and stares in the mirror until he can’t. His shirt is straightened and his tie appears neat, his jacket tucked into itself. Breakfast is fast, barely even sufficing to the word’s meaning. 

It’s raining out, early in the morning but that’s fine.

He grabs his umbrella, cheap and black and new, opening it as the rain drops down softly. 

_Almost mesmerizing,_ Saihara mummers to himself while he tugs down the sleeves of his jacket. He's feeling cold today, probably because he decides not to wear his jacket. _Almost._ The rain falls out of tune when he reaches along the shops lined up, not quite evenly next to each other, and not quite evenly cut out. 

He reaches the white building of DICE, and from the window he can see that someone is shouting inside, saying something. Saihara doesn't particularly care too much, as he waits right outside the door.

It takes less than a minute for Ouma to appear, and Saihara has to stare at Ouma. It's the first time he has seen him out of his school uniform and DICE uniform, instead dressed up in casual clothes. (Saihara doesn't deny he likes it. He doesn't deny he dislikes it. His head goes empty and he can't deny anything because he's too busy—

Too busy staring.)

Ouma likes to wear large clothes, Saihara realizes. A large shirt that can cover up his figure and simple stuff. White pants, and a large jacket covered in buttons. He doesn't have anything on his face, he never does. Saihara doesn't know why he was expecting anything else.

"Neat. Though you always look good enough, Ouma-kun." Saihara points out after observing Ouma like a scientist through a telescope. "But don't you have school today?" Ouma pauses for a moment, before giving Saihara a miniscule smile.

"Saihara-senpai, I feel like a small break today." So he's skipping.

Saihara thinks about what to say before giving Ouma his umbrella. "You should've told me then. It's not fair to leave a friend alone, you know." And as if it were natural now, Ouma rolls his eyes, pushing the umbrella back to Saihara.

"I-I probably shouldn't l—" Ouma tries to reason, rubbing his arm. 

"It'll be fun. We're students anyway, so he should have some fun before we get… you know." Saihara rubs his neck, eyes with a trickle of yellow. He repeats his words, "It'll be fun, Ouma-kun." Ouma frowns, his eyebrows knitting together.

He sighs, "Shouldn't you ask your uncle?" 

"Shouldn't you ask your dad?" Saihara asks.

Ouma flinches. Saihara humours the thought of telling Ouma sorry. It's only a single word really, but he can't get it out. When Ouma speaks, his voice is back in a whisper, "S-Sure. You can follow me I guess…" 

Anxiety. Pressure. Apprehension. Dread. _(Guilt, guilt, guilt guilt—)_ Saihara has a hard time figuring out which one would correctly fit. "Okay." He nods, stuffing one hand in his pockets. "I have to change though, so… It's fine, I can go back to my house anyways." 

"Y-Yeah…"

* * *

_395 days ago, school, 6:57 AM. Saturday._

"I just realized, I never did return Harukawa-san's backpack, did I..? Oh well." (It's not just Oh well, it's more than that. A heavy feeling weighs on him and he's not sure how to describe it but he feels like he's doing something wrong and right and _he can't make sense of it god he feels like there's too many things for him to think about right now—)_ Saihara sighs, glancing at the mirror. 

Yellow eyes.

Grey eyes.

Flickering between colours, he's tempted to take another look. He doesn't though, instead funding away from his reflection and grabbing some clothes. On his walls, there are posters of Danganronpa he acquired from America. On his floor, there is a small rug that he likes to sit on. On his bed, there are two many pillows and barely a large enough blanket. On his table, notes and notes scrambled from the mess of his head.

It doesn't feel like his room for some reason.

Ouma is waiting downstairs, in an awkward spiral of silence with his uncle. As he takes a step off the stairs, he can hear the mutters of his Uncle's voice. He pauses for a second, before continuing to walk. He tries to ignore what his uncle said, like always, but he can't get it out of his head.

_"I don't mind if he's dating a guy… you don't seem like a bad guy, kid, despite your father. Just— Just take good care of him. Make him happy. I can deal with the rest."_

He waves at Ouma, through the crack of the door to the kitchen table. The walls are painted grey, like his eyes. Grey. Not yellow. Ouma waves back, beneath the table so Saihara's uncle doesn't see.

They stay until his uncle leaves for work, a few minutes later. The minutes are spent with Saihara whispering to Ouma, and Ouma whispering back. 

"He thinks we're dating." Saihara mumbles, when his uncle is gone. 

Ouma doesn't look surprised. "I'm the only person he's seen you with. Gosh… your clothes are—" Saihara looks down. They aren't too bad. A white tee shirt, black jeans, a jacket he found in the back of his closet, navy-striped (and it reminds him of the jacket detailed in the envelope.) "Nevermind." He can't tell if that's good or bad. 

They take the day to relax on something else for once. They visit the old arcade a few streets over that has a game Ouma enjoys, and Saihara listens to the music running in the background with his head pressed against the wall. They buy a snack, not as expensive as in some other places, and eat nearby. The park is a quick visit and it makes Saihara pause.

And time is so quick to end on the enjoyable things.

They're in Ouma's room this time, above the cafe. He never really thought about whether or not Ouma lived up here or somewhere else. The room is a mess, walls painted purple, and the boxes spread around that makes it look like Ouma is moving gives Saihara a headache.

For some reason, he's lying on the checkered covers of Ouma's bed when it happens.

A kiss. Ouma is leaning to Saihara's face, and the kiss feels sickening. It feels like a sin. A lie. It feels _wrong._ And Saihara kisses back.

(Ouma is surrounded by toxic examples. 

Saihara has influenced Ouma too much

He's scared. No, not scared. Angry? Anxious? Guilt.

He feels remorse.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harukawa’s character arc - Yeah I just planned on throwing the character straight in. Forward.    
>  _  
>  Woosh.    
>  _   
>  So I made Harukawa’s personality like this because I kind of based this on a version on someone I used to be an acquaintance with. I remember she laughed a lot at my stupid jokes like she had a laughing disease, and I told her one day, “You’re going to die from laughing one day.” You can conclude from that what you will.
> 
> Second Part - What the fuck am I writing a goddamn math problem for a primary school????
> 
> Asami Hikari, Yuko Hiraoka, Yasuo Oka, and Izanagi Tao - Names I got from a Japanese name generator. If you want a link, though I’m not sure why you would want it, here:   
> [ https://blog.reedsy.com/character-name-generator/language/japanese/ ](https://blog.reedsy.com/character-name-generator/language/japanese/)
> 
> Saihara - Saihara is, uh, you know. For his description in a google doc where I write all the personalities, I put he would only get excited about something that would make him interested. I wrote that like, way long ago and I’m not sure w h a t that means. So (And I never finish that sentence.)
> 
> Things with () - If you’re confused about this, this is the stuff that is just like, hints that is more on going on in Saihara’s head, something he’s thinking about more or just a small snippet of a secret in that World which we can only see because this is writing. I’m just, going through a phase of these () perhaps. I’ll stop after a while when I fade out of it or it will stick, like some of my phases do.
> 
> _  
> No,  
> _  
>  it’s all in his head again. Nobody knows. Not yet.) - This line implies nothing and everything. Uh, you’ll know. Also Hhahaw,
> 
> Ouma's face runs into a panic - If I was ever drunk, this would be the first thing I want to say. 
> 
> That part where Saihra meets Kondo - If you didn’t notice, Saihara is shaking the panta can so it blows up in Ouma’s face. My mind was just thinking of that. 
> 
> Big note - Listen, you may think some people don't feel emotion, and that they don't want you talking to them. Sometimes it is that. Most times, it's not. Actual people have actual emotions, and this is what I'm trying to portray with Saihara's thoughts. I've experienced what he's going through emotionally myself, saying the wrong things and never apologizing. I think we've all done that once. Saihara in this, pretend so, that he is human, not some written character that you can slap a stupid sticker on and fantasize about, he's a person that I'm only writing (and to be honest, I'm not the one writing, it's my conscious most of the time). Characters have flaws. They make mistakes. Some mistakes forgotten, some mistakes never lost in the sight of memory. So don't go saying that Saihara is being stupid, because he is, I'm just saying that he's stupid because he has emotions and can't control them as well as other people imagine. Sorry, this story doesn't do them enough justice.


	4. Ultimate Assassin {Part Two}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party. And after. And before. But it's all a mess either way, no doubt. Everything is jumbled up and tossed around and thrown out. That's just how it had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter sucks. Anyways, so for Harukawa's part she will be the only person who had 3 chapters, I originally planned. And, uh, GUESS WHAT SOME MORE STUFF HAPPENED YEAH I GOT A GIRL FRIEND AND STUFF AND AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> _someone help me_
> 
> Anyways shout-out to pinklemonade123, iLuminaries, _auppexx,_ Raani55, Hydrastele, as well as 8. Is 8 right? Is my math wrong? I have no idea. 8 guests for kudos-ing!!!

_ 395 days ago, weekend, 10:02 AM. Sunday. _

Saihara feels light-headed. His mind is somewhere else, somewhere far, far away from the table of the coffee shop, clocked with a unique pattern that is oddly familiar yet he can never put his finger on it. Maybe today, he humours, maybe. 

They’re in a small coffee shop, a little before lunch and a little after breakfast. The walls are painted dull, a soft beige; it’s popular with the tourists, half of them definitely not from Japan. It’s a little funny, he supposes. Plus, it’s early in the day and barely anyone is here.

Better for him, he supposes. 

Ouma’s fingers tap anxiously on the table, waiting, waiting for Saihara to say something, waiting for himself to say something. Ouma’s hair frays to the side and he’s biting his lip in frustration, a jacket wrapped around his waist and a shirt too large on Ouma. 

It’s clear he wants to say something about anything. About the last time they saw each other, about when Saihara left, about life in general. Just  _ anything.  _ Saihara can tell from a single glance to Ouma’s eyes.

“So…” Ouma’s eyes show fear.  _ Fear. He's scared of Saihara.  _ A red alert goes off in his head and spreads like fire. Ouma speaks too quickly, too quietly again, "I-I'm so sorry about what what happened it's just that you were acting  _ that way again  _ and I-I just wanted to  _ please you b-because I was acting stupid sorry sorry sor _ — _ "  _

Saihara reaches out to grab Ouma's hand without thinking, and too suddenly does Ouma pull it back. There's a pause of silence before Saihara says, "It was just something you did without thinking, right?" Saihara doesn't use a soft voice, he doesn't need to. His tone is bored, always.

Ouma doesn't open his mouth for ten seconds, and Saihara's words almost echo in the air. "Yes." is all Ouma mummers.

"Then there's nothing to worry about. We could just forget it." Saihara explains. (He doesn't add the fact that he's known Ouma has a few weeks, or that they don't know what they're doing, or how when he felt Ouma kiss him he kissed back. They don't say any of it.) 

Ouma stares at him for a moment, before slowly nodding.

And they don't talk about it. 

The rest of the time is slow, like homework. It's the normal, everyday thing yet you can't ever get used to it. It feels almost like a requirement for them to talk to each other, whisper to each other when they start talking about Danganronpa and the news, to go to each other's houses and smile at stupid things and make jokes of the posters in Saihara's room, or how Ouma has bright underwear in his drawer.

Routine.

Everything is back to normal now, but not really. It seems too carefree, but too calculated. Everything feels fake. (Like a lie.)

It's routine, but not really.

* * *

_ 394 days ago, school, 7:52 AM. Monday. _

There are whispers in the hall today. Quiet, tucked-into-the-corner type whispers that Saihara has heard when grabbing a soda from the vending machine. They aren't intelligent thoughts, just old gossip from the people of the regular middle school that most people here went to. (Saihara thinks he went there. He thinks he went there but he can't remember. He can't remember a lot of things anymore. It's all so blurry.)

A girl with long braided hair and thick-rimmed glasses has her phone in hand, spreading word in a whisper. "Did you hear? Lil' Maki-Roll is acting up again." Saihara recognizes her. She was the first person he spoke to about Harukawa, the one who showed no interest.

"God, I feel so bad for her. She just acts too much as a freak for someone to treat her normally. I mean, have you heard her laugh?" 

"You mean, who  _ hasn't?" _ They laugh like it's some funny joke. They stop talking about her, moving on like Harukawa is only a subject for them to mess around a bit before they lose interest. But even so, the conversation has helped Saihara.

_ Harukawa's old nickname was Maki-Roll, Maki-Roll… Maki-Roll. That was the nickname Momota gave her back in the letter. That was— _ Oh. Saihara frowns.

Lunch comes like a charging bull, and it's raining again.

Too many people are in the classroom, muttering, whispering, like there's a secret among them and Saihara can't know. Eyes peer down at Harukawa, and she only laughs when Saihara returns her bag. She laughs and laughs until she's crying.

And then she goes to the nurse's office, quiet with her head down.

The room goes silent, nobody is laughing anymore.

Then the whispers continue.

By the time Harukawa comes back, it's late in Gym class, almost over. She doesn't seem to mind, sitting down in her usual spot with her knees pulled up to her chest and a blank stare into someone.

Nobody is whispering anymore. Instead, they're staring at her with knowing eyes, staring at her with a mocking smile when she looks at them. (Staring at her with ghostly pale eyes and delicate fingers wrapping around her neck, whispering something in her air and Saihara can see the panic in her eyes. But there's nobody there.)

Saihara wants to ask her so many questions, so many thoughts, but it seems like he shouldn't for now. For now, he'll wait. He'll wait until he can gather more information. He'll wait until Harukawa isn't melting into despair, until Ouma calms down.

He wonders how long it will take.

* * *

_ 393 days ago, school, 3:30 PM. Tuesday.  _

"So, I just wanted to give you this, Saihara-kun." She has her arms crossed, barely holding out a small note in her hand through a small peek in her sleeve. Saihara stares for a moment, eyes with yellow glisten as he takes it. 

It's a messy scribble of an invitation. Harsh lines telling Saihara where it is and that it happens today.

Saihara takes a double look at who is in front of him. Someone he doesn't know, but he met before, back when he was questioning her about Harukawa. Black hair swept to the side of her face, tucked in with a small hair clip, and black eyes. She twists her head and gives him a small smile. 

It's fake.

Saihara looks up at her, yellow eyes fading grey.

And she continues, twirling a strand of her black hair with her finger. “I just thought you should know about the party. In case, you know, if you ever come.” She’s still smiling, a sharp look in her eyes.

“Oh, okay.” Saihara nods, slowly and carefully. Right before she manages a step out of place, Saihara asks, voice drawn out, “By the way, what’s your name?” She turns around to give him a blank stare.

(Harukawa is giggling in the background, the noise of her laughter filling the room as she covers her face. It’s eerily silent when she stops. Almost like there wasn’t any point, Saihara thinks when Harukawa stands up and leaves the classroom with a large thud of the door.

Saihara realizes she received a note as well.)

“My name is Ayano Nagamine. Remember that,” Nagamine declares, stabbing her thumb right into her heart. The sound of the S on the tip of her tongue drags.  _ “Saihara-kun.” _ Nobody is laughing anymore with Harukawa out of the classroom. The door is slammed shut again and the room is hushed, though restless.

So instead, Saihara forces out a dead laugh under his breath.

The classroom is mostly empty by the time Saihara’s done staring at the floor, set aside the people who have cleaning duty and the ones who take too long to stop talking with each other. Barely any familiar faces, despite the fact they’ve known him for a little around a month.

He grabs his bag, and in a dreadful manner slugs his way out the classroom. The sky through the windows is bleak, the colour of expectations of rain, whatever that might be. Saihara is sure that whatever that is it must be rather dull. (Like everything.)

It stopped raining a little while ago though, and soon the clouds will clear up and show the pale blue of the sky. Soon. Saihara just has to wait. He can see in the corner of his eye as he makes his way through the hallways crowded minimum with students, Momota huddled up with other friends, grinning at each other stupid.

With a glance of his eyes, Momota’s eyes flicker something hard to describe (the look of something far beyond what Saihara can imagine. A star. Two. His eyes twinkle the colour of space.) and he waves, almost hitting someone else as he walks over to Saihara, not even a second look to the friends he left over.

Just an idiotic wide smile as Momota shoves his hands into his pocket. “Hey! Yo, bro. I remember you from when I pummeled that one weirdo. You’re that— that one guy with long eyelashes and shit.”

“... Yeah.” Saihara nods blankly, wondering if Ouma would be waiting for him today.

“Hey, anyways, what’s Maki-Roll doin’ these days? I’ve heard ‘bout her lately, and I’m—” Momota briefly pauses, a guilty look crossing his face as he rubs his neck. They’re almost out the exit, so close but not yet. “We used ‘ta hang out. Back in Middle School, back when we were friends.” 

_ Back when they were friends.  _ Saihara lingers on those words before shuffling his fingers with his bag’s straps.

“Care to explain further?” Saihara asks meticulously, in a low voice. The look on Momota’s face is strange, in a way. Not exactly sad, not exactly happy. Not exactly anything in a way. It’s hard to describe and Saihara doubts he could. There’s a long moment of silence, only the sound of yelling and laughter in the background.

“Me and ‘er used to talk ‘bout weapons. A lot. We also talked about… I can’t remember.” Momota knits his brows together, the floor seemingly more interesting than strength forward. He looks back up and shrugs. “Oh well. Nothin’ someone like me can’t handle!”

“Huh.” Is the only answer Saihara replies back with. “Bye, then.”

(Ouma wasn’t there, but Saihara swears he sees purple locks and a checkered scarf in the corner of his eye, right by the gate. He’s leaving, Saihara notes, must be after he saw Saihara. Saihara can’t help but wonder what he’s doing with his life.)

* * *

_ 393 days ago, after school, 7:24 PM. Tuesday. _

"You'll…" There's a sign of grievance in the older man's voice, before he mutters a quick, "Come back soon, kid." Saihara gives an empty glance at his uncle, before turning around with a small nod. He's at the foot of the house, ready to leave to somewhere he's never been.

He's about to leave, but he raises his head and demands, "If Ouma-kun comes, call me." His words are short, said too quickly in a manner too rude. His uncle, even with Saihara's problems, lets a small smile come to his face. (Small things like this— such small, pitiful things like this— kill him inside.)

Saihara leaves to go somewhere else.

He knows the location. In fact, it was rather close. Closer than school. It was around the area with the large tree in the centre of the park that spread ume blossoms around in the late winter to early spring like wildfire. Nobody mind, with how utterly pretty they were as they fell down.

It's still fall, slowly drifting seasons. Old, dry stacks of vibrant warm-coloured leaves still found in the corners of dumpsters, and the small rustles of squirrels running around were heard in the city. Quiet, docile creatures that ate the leftovers and roamed near the peaceful areas.

He almost laughs at himself, blabbing about the seasons like this. Though before he knew it, he arrived at the house.

With nobody by his side, he goes up through the crack on the front gate and knocks gently on the door. He glances around. There's barely anything out of place; the grass is cut clean, small hedges trimmed neatly against the fence, the cement floor spotless. Picture perfect. Picture perfect in a way that seems so much like a lie. 

The door opens.

"Oh! Saihara-kun, you came." Nagamine mutters, as though shocked. Before she crosses her arms again, throwing her hair back in a tossle. "Of course you did. Anyways… god, your clothes. Are you like, emo, or something?"

Saihara shrugs. "Are you like, a bitch, or something?"

Nagamine pauses, scowling before stepping off in a calm manner inside the house. Saihara swears she mutters a "Come in.", so he takes a step forward and enters the strange complex of a house.

It isn't a very small party, about the size of a classroom. Saihara recognizes a few people, like Hiraoka and Tao in the small corner of the room, laughing at each other's jokes of some kind and separated from everyone else. There's Momota, crowded by people that Saihara slightly recognizes. It's hard for Saihara to tell who else though, because immediately, someone walks up to him.

Kondo, Harukawa's ex-boyfriend.

(Yet Harukawa has yet to arrive.)

"Hey, Saihara-kun. Nagamine-san told me you'd be here. Anyways, how're you doing?" Kondo smiles, and they're standing by the front gate. "Oh… and nice clothes. Didn't expect you'd be the type of person to wear those."

Saihara shrugs. "The more you know. I'm doing well for now, though unfortunately it seems Harukawa-san isn't doing the same." There's a look of something in Kondo's eyes. Fear? It seems to be fear and a mix of something else. Worry, and curiosity. Those two fit unpredictably together.

"... Really?" It's clear he already knew and is feigning ignorance.

"Yeah, but I'm not really sure what happened since I wasn't at school Saturday." Though it probably had something to do with him, somehow, in some way. The backpack, the talking,  _ he had to be somewhat at fault.  _ "If you ever find out what happened, tell me."

Kondo seems to realize that's not a request by the time Saihara's attention is taken up by someone else Saihara doesn't know, saying something dead dreams and depression until they fall asleep somehow.

Five more minutes in, Nagamine seems to call to attention that they should play a game of some sort. She pushes it until enough people say yes, and they crowd into a horrible circle. Saihara isn't playing, instead listening in as they go on. 

They play truth and dare. Really, a stupid game, and everyone but a couple people seem uncomfortable as they continue on. Old, boring dares like sitting in someone's lap and bland truths like who likes who.

And then the door slowly pulls open, and Harukawa is there. She's wearing that red bomber jacket of hers, hands shoved into her pockets as she takes a step inside. A necklace is wrapped around her neck, and it's clear she was in a rush. She's barely wearing any make-up, and the small dots of freckles on her face show.

"Oh, hey  _ Maki-Roll."  _ Someone, Saihara doesn't pay attention to who, cooes from the crowd. And suddenly everyone is staring, eyes burning holes through Harukawa. She stares back, of course, a small smile taking her face. 

"Oh, hey Gandalf-kun!" (Saihara almost spits his glass of punch onto someone.) Harukawa waves, and her eyes eagerly follow the people staring at her. She pauses at Saihara, before giggling. "Hahaha…  _ HAHAHAHAHA!  _ I— You think you're so fucking funny, with that stupid look on your face when you invite everyone I knew back in middle school, goddamn bitch. Why invite me when you embarrassed me Saturday? Why invite me when you hate me?"

Harukawa glares at Nagamine, before Nagamine mutters, "Maki-Roll, you can never escape the past. Don't you know, you little  _ assassin?  _ Isn't that why you came here after all? Despite that you could not?" Nagamine crosses her arms at Harukawa, before Harukawa laughs again, walking up to Saihara in the silence in the room.

"Oh! Hey, Saihara-kun! I remember you being in the same middle school as me. Though I don't remember you being so pacifist, haha." Saihara forces out a weak laugh as he manages to say something agreeing to that. The silence stops and the noise continues. "Hey, anyways, let's go to the bathroom!"

She pulls with an iron grip, forcing Saihara to pull over. "Wha— How do you even know where the bathroom is? Harukawa-san!?" Momota glances at him before looking away. "Wait, Harukawa-san, I'm a  _ guy.  _ Please let me—" And then they're at a door, and when opened, it is the bathroom. Pure white, no marks on the walls like the rest of the house.

"And we're here! Okay, now let's—"

"I'm dying," Saihara deadpans to her, "my wrist is dying, Harukawa-san. Can you please let go?" Harukawa stares at him for a moment, before a wide smile takes her face as she let's go.

The noise when she opens her mouth isn't laughter. It's between a soft sob and a quiet mutter, "S-Sorry, I must have, haha… Anyways!" She doesn't seem to finish her own thought. "Anyways. This party totally sucks, doesn't it? It's so, like, I don't know." Her eyes gleam a dull brown.

"You've been here for 5 minutes and the first thing you do is bring me to the bathroom." Her smile is bittersweet on reminiscence, eyes creasing just a little more genuine than their happiness. "Every single time I'm around you, I always feel so rushed… God." Saihara brushes a hand through his hair, smiling back.

(He's realized he's been thinking too much about what to do, why his boredom has been increasing back when he was trying to steal Harukawa's bag. In all of them, every single time it failed because she wasn't there. It's all been so dull because she wasn't around.)

"By the way, you look so  _ funny,  _ Saihara-kun. Your clothes, they're so…" her voice raises an octowave. "Ga—" She barely finishes before she breaks out cackling to the ground, her knees collapsing on herself. 

Saihara dares himself to respond, but he can't help but laugh a little as well.

Two idiots laughing in a bathroom at a party and they don't know why.

"Hey, you know what we should do? Saihara-kun?" Harukawa doesn't wait for him to respond, only pausing for the smallest of seconds before starting again. "I'm sorry. I actually don't need your opinion. Sorry, Saihara-kun! Majority rules." She giggles a little, a smile as she moves closer to Saihara.

He backs away.

Harukawa inches closer. "What are you doing, Harukawa-san..? Can you please explain what you're doing before you, uh, do it?" Saihara looks at her with meticulous eyes, and she laughs at his face.

"Don't worry, Saihara-kun. I just have to  _ fix _ that look you have." Harukawa mutters the last part, a sharp glare in her eyes when she backs him into a wall. "Don't worry, I'm just colouring over your face! I'm an amazing artist, I'll let you know." From what Saihara has seen, he doubts that.

Harukawa pulls out a small box, clean and tidy and oddly familiar.

The room of the bathroom is clean, not a speck of dust across the floor when Harukawa drops her lipstick onto the floor. It's blood pink, smearing across the pristine white marble.

"There!" Harukawa smiles, hands burst out into the bathroom air. "You look absolutely—" She almost crippled to the ground, laughing. "perfect, Saihara-kun!" Saihara doubts so when he stares into the mirror.

"I look like a fucking bitch. Thanks." Saihara mutters.

"You don't look… too bad..!" Harukawa says through gritted teeth trying not to laugh— and if it was a test, she would be failing. 

Saihara taps at his cheek. The make-up itself isn't bad, but considering the fact Saihara never wore make-up before makes it feel rather heavy on his face. (Crystal eyes shining diamonds, doll-like skin drawn in with reminiscence to plastic, and cherry pink lips. She's careful, so very careful when Saihara almost screams when it goes near his eye.  _ Was it really his first time?) _ In the mirror, he can see his crystal clear reflection against the glass.

His shirt is barely wrinkled, a completely black hoodie with blue roses running down to his wrists, simple black jeans and a small choker fastened around his neck. He has pins in his hair and now there's eyeliner on his face; Saihara is a little amused that he looks even more weirder now. 

"God, I look so fucking—"

Harukawa finishes that sentence for him. "Ga—" but before she does, she bursts out laughing. By the time she's finished, she appears to have forgotten the past conversation. "Anyways, time to leave the party."

"Harukawa-san." Saihara says as she tugs on his wrist, "Harukawa-san, we literally just got here. I— I don't know why you want to leave soon. It's only a nickname, really, what they're calling you, and it's not like they're bullying you an—" (Once more, Saihara said the wrong words.)

Harukawa's smile widens, not so much positive as Saihara would have chosen. "Laughter doesn't come from jokes, it comes from reaction, Saihara-kun." Saihara pauses, before forcing out a laugh. Harukawa glares at him, with red eyes and a wide grin. 

She leaves the bathroom.

Saihara follows her, and ignores the photo casted along the hallway. Two young girls, giving a handful of smiles to the one taking the photo, who shoves herself onto the frame. Brown hair, red eyes. Black hair, black eyes. Red hair, Brown eyes.

At the end of the hall, Harukawa is leaving before another word, and there seems to be people who want to speak up but don't know how. Lost their tongue, Saihara guesses as he brushes past them and watches as Harukawa pauses.

She pauses because her name was called out by Nagamine.

"Maki-Roll, make sure not to  _ kill anyone  _ on your way home." Nagamine smiles, arms crossed and Harukawa laughs, hard and loud before running out. Saihara isn't sure where she is going, but he still stares until she disappears. "Still a b— Oh, Saihara-kun, your face changed."

"I guess it did… Say, everyone in here is from our middle school?" Nagamine nods, slowly and carefully, like she will break her neck if she doesn’t. “What happened in middle school?” Saihara asks, but he only receives a dead look from the teenager.

“What do you mean by that? Everything happened. Nothing happened. Life happened.” Nagamine explains, her fingers tapping on her arm. That reminds him of someone but he has a hard time pining who. “If you want me to say what happened, then I’ll just say.”

Saihara waits.

“Maki-Roll killed someone. Cold-blooded even. It’s really horrible too, since we were friends before.” Nagamine sighs, letting out a breath of something. Regret. Bitterness. Remorse.  _ (Guilt.)  _ “It’s hard to forget.”

Saihara raises a brow. “Who did she kill?”

Nagamine stares at him with shock, “Do you actually not remember? It was all over the news and then the next month, woosh, no cases were charged and she was out guilt-free. Everyone forgot.” Saihara isn’t sure whether he should remember. Would it really be something he’d remember? Would he care enough to remember? He forgot. “Wow, you actually  _ don’t.” _

“Hey— Wait, guys, what’re you talking about?” Kondo calls out, “Oh, did Harukawa— Did she, um, actually leave?” Kondo frowns when he comes to the door, looking out to confirm. “Gosh… I wanted to give her something back. Before she left, I mean.” Kondo rubs the back of his neck as he pulls out a small black box, inside the same necklace she wears everyday.

“Huh.” Saihara says.

Nagamine stares down at it, in a hard glare. “You still haven’t given it back to her.”

“You’re the one who told me I shouldn’t.” Kondo refutes in a small voice. He stuffs it back into his pocket and sighs like it’s the last day of his life and all he can do is stare at the falling moon. “Well, another day I guess.”

“Another day is too far gone into a year.” Nagamine remarks, “Just toss it to Saihara-kun. He can finally just throw it away for you." Kondo glances at Saihara, eyes narrowing for a moment before passing it to him.

In a low mutter, he tells him, "Give this to Harukawa-san. She knows what it is."

Saihara stares for a moment, before nodding.

The party goes on.

* * *

_ 393 days ago, night, 9:14 PM. Tuesday. _

_ "Please leave a message."  _ There's a loud beep before Ouma's voice gradually fades in. "U-Um, your uncle said that you were at a party, or something? S-Sorry for calling. It's just, that, um, I did  _ something.  _ I'll tell you when you get back." He mutters another quick sorry before the phone feels again.

The message was one hour ago.

"Fuck— Fuck, I need to—" Saihara pauses, putting away his phone and running a hand through his hair, "Oh god, I need to go inside now. You can do it, Shuichi Saihara. Ouma-kun probably doesn't care." Ouma probably already left anyway so it's not like it matters.

It's laughable, that he's talking to himself because of the single thought of someone.

His hand ruffles around his pockets for the key until he eventually finds it.slowly turning the knob of the door, he can see the lights are all out. That must mean that his uncle is working in the room right now. Not sleeping though, his uncle rarely sleeps these days.

Something they had in common then.

He locks the door, and ponders whether he should turn the light on or not. He decides against it, not wanting to draw attention to himself. Saihara tries to weave himself through the hallway in the dark, hearing his footsteps of himself as he climbs up the wooden panelling of the stairs.

The door to his room is open, bright light escaping out.

Saihara glances inside to see why the light is on, because he is sure he turned it off before he left. There's his desk set aside to the wall, posters rampant, his small closet in the corner of the room, and there's—

There's a small person on his bed, purple hair brushing their face as they sleep soundly. It's Ouma, because of course it is, and he appears to either be dead or dead asleep. Saihara goes with the latter.

"Hey," Saihara mutters, walking up to the guy and trying to shake him. But to no avail. Saihara frowns when he has a sudden burst of ideas. He goes up to Ouma's ear and whispers, "Ouma, Ouma, Ouma, Ouma,—"

Ouma twists, eyes fluttering open.

"Oh, good morning." Saihara waves, backing away. "Why were you asleep? On my bed? If you mind answering." Ouma gives him a blank face in response, glancing around before shutting his eyes again. " Oh. I guess I should tell you this isn't a dream."

Ouma opens his eyes again, his face turning pink. "H-Hey! Don't tell me what's not a dream. I just… I just need to sleep. I'm having another nightmare."

"Another one, huh?" Saihara remarks, crossing his arms as he sits next to Ouma. "I guess in your dreams I'm wearing make-up and you sleep on my bed. Nice to know." Ouma furrows his brows for a moment, before his face crumples into relief.

"This one will be snarky. What a relief." Ouma smiles a little, rubbing at the loose sleeve on his arm. "So how was the party? I see you got all prettier up, pins in your hair and everything." Saihara rolls his eyes, but he doesn't mind trying to go inside the head of Ouma's.

"Yeah? The party was bland. You weren't there so I had to talk to Momota-kun, Ouma-kun." Saihara says, laying down on his bed next to Ouma. "Oh, and I got a necklace. Don't know what that's about. I have to investigate more."

"Detective-san." Ouma mutters, before breaking down laughing.

"What?" Saihara asks, raising an eyebrow.

Ouma gives him a wide smile, "I remember back when I called you that. God, that was so funny. Don't you know, Saihara-chan?" Before Saihara can react, Ouma plants a small kiss on his cheek and (it's too much it's too much it's too much— The words Ouma says feel too familiar in Saihara's mind.) Saihara blacks out.

He isn't sure how much of it was a dream and how much of it was real, because when he wakes up the next morning there's no one by his side, his make-up has been wiped off, and there's a certain someone on his mind that doesn't respond to his texts.

* * *

_ 392 days ago, after school, 3:55 PM. Wednesday. _

Harukawa wasn't at school today, strangely enough. She must have not been feeling well, Saihara decides after thinking about it. Not well. Huh. Saihara's thoughts linger on that.

The teacher glanced over at him during the end of the day, sneakily passing him papers and asking him to bring them to Harukawa's house. Saihara makes note that the teacher gave it to him and shoves it into his bag.

Class ends. Ouma's by the gate. They walk in silence.

Now only if life was that simple.

"I was being satire." Ouma speaks in a quick mumble after their long, awkward silence of walking with each other. They're heading to the detectives' office, just a little longer and they will arrive, a little more of dead silence. "That kiss meant nothing."

"Nothing." Saihara echoes.

"Nothing." Ouma nods, tightening his grip on his bag. "And anything we do like that after is nothing, alright?" He isn't giving Saihara a chance to say no. Saihara smiles.

He pauses on every syllable as he speaks. Make it more dramatic, why doesn't he? His voice out dry as his words come out. "Yeah. Of course, Ouma-kun." Ouma gives him a small smile before pulling down the sleeves of his jacket.

That's right. It's been getting colder. Saihara almost forgot.

He rumples his jacket hoodie, black and white of each side to the yin yang. And they go back to being silent.

(Ouma's hand grazes past his, and Saihara locks on. 

They're holding hands, holding hands in a satire way.

It's all satire now.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It stopped raining a little while ago though, and soon the clouds will clear up and show the pale blue of the sky. Soon. Saihara just has to wait. - This is symbolism. Referring back to how Saihara needs to wait some more until something happens. Haha, this line kills me. I noticed I’ve been dying a lot recently. How fun.
> 
> He can see in the corner of his eye as he makes his way through the hallways crowded minimum with students, Momota huddled up with other friends, grinning at each other stupid. - I literally just wanted to add the word stupid and Momota in the same sentence. Don’t ask why, I was just in that… mood.
> 
> Me and ‘er - Whenever someone says me and them instead of them and I, I die inside.
> 
> Two idiots laughing in a bathroom at a party and they don't know why. - This reminds me of a sentence prompt. Haha… I need to finish my prompts, but like, that's not something I ever want to do because for one, I cannot write people, and the other I want to make it so the parents die but make it hurt. HAHAHAHA I'll fail.
> 
> Laughter doesn't come from jokes, it comes from reaction, Saihara-kun. - She's just saying he is not funny. But I'm just like, hehehs.
> 
> Harukawa - Harukawa is a really forced out character that is quick to do irrational thing. Thats my excuse for this chapter's horrible plotting. My other excuse was that I was eaten by a unicorn but I hate unicorns since I stepped on one once and it bit me.


	5. Ultimate Assassin {Part Three}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a simplicity, with the way Saihara does things. His words, his actions. Harukawa, rather seems to enjoy entricity with every shake of her words, every single laugh she forces out like she is going to die. 
> 
> Ouma just be vibing. 
> 
> **(END OF ULTIMATE ASSASSIN)**
> 
> _Warning: Suicide, suicidal thoughts, deppresion, implied eating disorder, thoughts of arson, mention of blonde people with big boobs, irritable behaviour_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Alright Imma write a fic that's really good and A+ quality because I want to seem like a good writer and a good example from what you can take one from  
> Me after the second chapter writing: Wait. Wait this isn't important anymore there's a pretty girl and we're talking and oh. Oh fuck she's my girlfriend now.  
> Me in the fifth chapter: Writing 15,000 words after three weeks of being absent because I'm stupid and didn't put my plan for this chapter in an offline doc and could not access it. 
> 
> Anyways the summary of the story is that my pacing suck and I am a big mess. Also shout-out to Everyone's Killing Reality which if you have not read please do so because man. It's fucking good.
> 
> Also! Also also also sorry I'm posting this at like, 12 AM but Xatherz, Wandering_River , Polkk675, and seven guests for kudos-ing! Sorry if I spelt your name wrong or got the math wrong. As I have to repeat, I am to be, a mess.
> 
> (Also if anyone wants to join the discord server since it actually let's you know more on depth what I'm doing and how my levels of procrastination works hahah jk jk but not jk.)

_ 391 days ago, after school, 4:55 PM. Thursday. _

Harukawa breathed heavily, a hand skittish resting on her necklace and the other brushing a strand of loose hair out her way. She stares down, legs neatly tucked together. Harukawa showered a few minutes ago, her hair still wet while but doesn't feel like drying.

She shifts, water slowly dripping from her hair. Harukawa furrows her brows before removing her hand from the necklace, abruptly standing up. 

Her father wasn't here, somewhere off to work, so she was alone. Alone alone alone. Alone in a house with herself. Not the wisest choice, she jokes. Not wise at all. There is a row of kitchen knives hidden under a locked living room drawer. Scissors taped to the wall behind a bookshelf. Glass objects are in the kitchen, in a cupboard that needs a password. All pens are in her father's room. Her father's room is locked.

That's a little wiser.

But everything can be turned into a weapon, she knows. Every single little air you take a breath of, every smile someone gives you. A pencil sharpener full could cut your throat, a necklace wrapped tight around your neck, paper cuts and blisters, funny-smelling alcohol markers, words and insults slicing into.

It's all up to decision though. Whether Harukawa will try to do anything, or she won't.

She won't for now.

Harukawa breathes loudly to herself because she can, fingers leaving a mark on her cheek while her shoulders shake. 

The doorbell rings downstairs, but she doesn't remember her father telling her about any packages. He wouldn't want her to get to anyway, not enough trust after the death of her mother. Not enough trust, after the suicide.

Still, she goes down with feet tapping to the wood, through a hall of old pictures with memories not quite as fond as Harukawa would remember if they didn't happen. She’s all too quiet.

The door is larger than her, shorter than her father.

There's a bundle of locks in front that take a few minutes to unlock. It's not a hassle, because every snap and second passing is just waiting time. There’s metal next to the door, where they hang the keys to all the locks, and if there isn’t a key it’s a password. Sometimes, sometimes Harukawa forgets them. Sometimes she doesn’t.

One minute, two, three. there’s shifting on the other side of the heavy door, from what she can hear. Maybe they’ll leave, place a package on the floor and go back to whatever place they came on. They won’t though, Harukawa knows in her all too vivid imagination.

She doesn’t laugh in the grave where her mother died.

The door opens with a harsh tremble. The person, grey eyes and navy hair sharp and a bright pin stuck to their bag. Saihara, loose papers in his hand as he fumbles with his hands. His eyes are sharp, too sharp staring at her.

Her breath is heavy as she sighs relief.

(Harukawa, every time, expects a gun to her head. Every time she’s wrong. She’s just too paranoid. Laughs and thinks too much. Like everyone else. Except her thoughts are more convoluted, more strange than she can remember.)

“Shuichi Saihara, high school year 1. Nice to see you again,” Saihara’s voice shatters her thoughts into glass pieces. He’s smiling at her, though she never quite knows if it’s genuine. She saw it once when it was genuine with someone else with purple hair. It looked funny, but then again doesn’t everything look funny? “Harukawa-san.” He puts out a hand.

Harukawa shakes it.

She’s confused on how Saihara found her house, but she goes along with it. “Hey, Saihara-kun! Say, how are you doing?” Her voice naturally curves along the edges of her tone, so horribly cheerful yet it’s hard to pin the underlying meaning.

He clenches his fist. Brushes a hair out of place. Saihara’s too pale, he gets like that when he’s nervous, Harukawa observed. She’s not good at playing detective, not like how Saihara is, but she’s good at noticing behaviour. Small, unnoticed behaviour. “I’m doing fine.”

_ Strange answer.  _

There’s a prolonged moment of silence before Saihara continues in his careful way, “I have your homework. The teacher—” Harukawa glances up, and notices he’s staring at her like she’s some sort of tool. Weapon.

Or maybe he just noticed she’s in her pyjamas. 

“Are you talking about Mrs. Takagi?” Saihara stares at her like he doesn’t recognize the name. Of course. He never seemed like the type to try and pay attention to such unnecessary details, especially when his grades weren’t that bad. “I like her. She’s the one who wears saree petticoats.”

Saihara doesn’t seem to know what that is. Funny. Ha. He hesitates, before persisting his sentence, “Mrs. Takagi said you would be absent for a week, and gave me your homework. I had to look through some files to find your address, but luckily I was able to track your house.”

Harukawa smiles wide. (She knows how students can’t get into the school’s files with even the excuse a teacher sent them.) “Ah! So you were worried, weren’t you, Saihara-kun?”

There’s too long a second before Saihara nods, “May I come inside?” He glances through the gaps of Harukawa. Pictures, a tight hall, an old dirtied carpet. His eyes flicker yellow as he adds, “Only if you feel comfortable, Harukawa-san.” Of course. Only if she feels comfortable. 

She never does though. “Absolutely, Saihara-kun! Feel free to barge right through— Ah, but if you want to find a knife in here, you won’t be able to.” Another hair falls out of place, navy blue. “Or a gun. It’s illegal anyway so don’t worry!”

“Don’t worry.” Saihara repeats in a breath. He coughs, forcing his voice louder. “Yeah. I’ll make sure not to look for a gun in your house. Can you let me in, now?” Harukawa nods, dripping water droplets to the carpet below her.

It’s old and dirty, a horrible pattern printed on. Bright red. Like the pin stuck to her wet hair. So she doesn’t care if the water from her hair is very slowly diluting the ugly pattern or the bright red of the carpet.

Saihara seems to be staring, slightly furrowed eyebrows at the outdated photos at the wall. At her memories. Her life. Her pain and hatred and happiness and forced smiles. Her mother, second-floor bedroom hung by a noose. Her victim, body grotesque-ed with blood surrounding her head in a halo as she lies off the edge of the school rooftop (Blood. Blood, too much blood. But not enough). Her bully, clean and prim and harsh in tone because she can’t stare at Harukawa properly without frowning and can’t see blood without hyperventilating. Her father, overworked with heavy bags under his eyes. And her.

Always smiling in all the pictures.

(It’s a little strange since Saihara has been hidden in her life since the very beginning. Elementary, right before the incident. Right until high school first year and he can’t remember. Harukawa can’t remember some parts either, like the teenager her mother used to invite over to drink tea with, or red painted nails bright.)

“I was cute when I was younger, wasn’t I?” Harukawa smiles softly. Saihara doesn’t respond, too busy examining them. Reading into them for a careful measure. Maybe he’s reading a little too much into it because Harukawa grabs his shoulder harder than she knows she should.

Saihara snaps out of it, though he doesn’t flinch or twist or shake. “Oh, sorry. I was thinking.” Thinking too hard. That’s a similarity between them.

“Would you like for me to make you some tea? I have cold tea bottled up in the fridge. Ah, but you can’t warm it up since I’m not allowed to use the stove.” Harukawa explains, going inside a room. They don’t have doors here, the only door being the front, so it’s quite easy to remember which rooms are which in a guessing game.

“Why would you need to use the stove to make tea?” Saihara asks, before frowning to himself. “Nevermind. Sorry, my head isn’t working.” Harukawa doesn’t laugh. But it’s funny. Everything is funny though. She breathes heavily. “What type of tea?”

“It was my mother’s favourite!” Harukawa clarifies. The refrigerator isn’t large, but it isn’t small. There are no sharp edges and the freezer is not big enough for someone to fit in. There’s a bottle of tea inside, more than half-filled. “Rose tea, to answer your question.”

“On the cover, it reads  _ Orange pekoe tea,”  _ Saihara says. Because nothing is ever straightforward.

Harukawa nods, “You’re so observant, Saihara-kun! Here, put my homework on the table while I make the tea.” 

“The tea… is already made,” Saihara notes, before shrugging. “You do you, Harukawa-san.”

She grabs out a cup, plastic, and sets it down before pouring the cold tea in. It’s winter, but that doesn’t stop Harukawa from feeling like her hand is burning while she pours. Not literally of course, but it makes her stomach twist and her arms feel sore.

“Here!” Harukawa says, jolting her arm out towards Saihara. The tea swishes around, a drop lands to the floor. Saihara takes it, one sip and he stares.

He mumbles something underneath his breath. “So anyways, Harukawa-san, the homework wasn’t the only reason I visited.” Curious. He pulls something out his pocket, treading through loose strings. A small black box. It’s almost familiar.

“Hm?”

He opens it carefully. Silver. Silver and then and wrapped around Saihara’s fingers like the one wrapped around Harukawa’s neck. Harukawa recognizes it, from back when she was in the first year of middle school.

“Where,” Harukawa’s breath is taken out of her, eyes wide, “did you get this?”

Saihara shrugs again. “Kondo— if you happen to remember him,” his voice is smooth, like he’s bored. He’s always bored though. So it’s normal. “gave me this.” He passes it with a throw. It lands into her gripped hands. “If you don’t mind, can you explain what it is?”

“It’s a necklace, of course.” Harukawa scoffs in a joking tone. Though it’s never that simple. “Though, you probably already saw it in the pictures.” Saihara doesn’t respond. “Do you really, actually, want me to explain? Because it’s going to take a pretty looong time!”

“How long?” Saihara asks, flicking his cup. He takes another sip of the tea and mutters something about it again. “How long will it take you to reveal your story?” He pauses, “Only if you feel comfortable.” Only if she feels comfortable. Of course.

“It’s not a story.” Harukawa rubs at her hair, still wet. “It’s not, not a story.” She doesn’t laugh.

Saihara doesn’t say anything but instead nods.

“Anyways!” She interrupts herself, a wide smile switching to her face. “I keep everything in a small notebook. It's red and small and has no sharp edges. Incredible, right!?" She doesn't wait for a response before reaching underneath the table drawer, kneeling. A book is in there, one she made. It's not particularly entertaining, but then again she's never read it before.

"Uh—" Saihara blurts out as Harukawa hands it over, standing up.

"It takes as long as it does for you to read." Harukawa finally answers, her voice popping in her own ears. Like bubblegum. But bubblegum has always tasted weird. She doesn't like it. "Well, you better go back! I'm sure someone more important is waiting for you."

Saihara waits, before asking in a quiet voice, "Your Nagito impression is better than your Chiaki impression." Harukawa gives him a bright smile. "You've watched Danganronpa?" Harukawa's smile widens even larger, eyes going wide.

"Of course! It's like, the trend isn't it? Since it's coming back." Harukawa examines her fingernails. She used to paint them, after her mother died. Though Harukawa can't remember when she stopped. (She used to paint them, before her mother died. Bright red, resembling someone with a blurry face. Resembling someone she can't quite remember.) "Of course, it's not illegal."

"If you could, would you choose to be there?" Saihara asks, something in his voice for once that makes him seem so fragile to break. Reminds Harukawa of skin. Then, what would be the insides? "In Danganronpa?"

Harukawa ponders. She's not good at pondering. She thinks too much, laughs too much, yes. But she can't ponder. She can't think too deep or else she's afraid her brain will melt while she stabs fingernails to cotton. 

(Pondering and thinking too much aren't the same thing. For one, you have to wonder and wonder and wonder until your head is a mess and there's no more room to think. The other, is just simple. You think, burning laughs to your mind until you memorize the sound of your voice, until you can see the trickling blood of your friend and the moment you walk into your parent's bedroom with pale skin. 

But not really.)

She slides into the seat across Saihara, tilting her head as she watches Saihara fumble as he slowly puts the book away. 

"Hm… no!" Harukawa answers. "Say, hey, Saihara-kun, do you believe in any religions?" 

Saihara stares, eyes sharp as he shakes his head. "Can't say I have… Nobody has ever forced it on me when I was younger, and I was never too interested in depending on an old book as people preach." Harukawa notices, over the time she has spent with Saihara, that he makes her want to laugh. 

A good friend, then.

"Mn, me neither, but every time I see a memory in my head and something, I feel like I have to repent repent  _ repent, _ you know?" Harukawa tries to explain, "like there is a burning feeling in my chest I have to do something. I think it's been growing."

"Huh…" Saihara mummers.

"I feel like I have to hit something, hit myself, swing a bat and hit a ball so far it falls across the country! That's a, funny thought or something. You know?" Her hands fly around, though she was never one to move them. Harukawa shifts in her seat, eyes glancing around the room before she goes back to her words. "I think the feeling is repentance. I've made a lot of people die, so I must repent!"

She gives him a smile as she clenched her fists. Saihara smiles back. 

Harukawa's voice swings around, "There are sins on my hands and skins burning through, so if I go to Danganronpa those sins will disappear. And… And I don't think I want them to disappear, like, I don't know what I would do if I died! I wouldn't be able to— to—" Her voice is breathy as her eyes widen to the floor.

(She wants to laugh so bad. Laugh at herself. Laugh at Saihara. The situation. Laugh at everything because it's all too funny. Though she can't seem to remember when she started laughing so crazily like this. After her mother died? After she killed her friend? After Nagamine poured cold water to her head? When Momota started teasing her with the name Harumaki and she  _ hated _ it? Or maybe it was after when she broke up with Kondo.)

Saihara grabs her hand, eyes empty and barely a change of expression. As always. As he whispers, "You need to go to therapy, Harukawa-san." Harukawa huffs, eyes telling him  _ I already know I should, Saihara-kun. I know I'm not okay. _

Instead she spells out "Hypocrite."

Eyes going wide, he takes his hands out from Harukawa's. And then— then Saihara breaks into a chuckle, then a laugh. Tears in the edge of his eye, it's genuine. For once. She got a genuine laugh out of Saihara.

Or maybe he was always this genuine? She isn't sure.

Before she knows it, a laugh falls out of her and even though she knows it's wrong to laugh in the place where her mother killed herself, isn't supposed to laugh in a home like this.

Harukawa giggles until her stomach hurts.

It's a moment between them, small and quick. It makes the two of them smile, as Harukawa leaves a number on Saihara's phone and Saihara notes down something. They're still smiling as Harukawa waves Saihara goodbye. Wide, bright.

Then she is left to her own thoughts again.

She goes to the restroom, so hazardous while she notices in the mirror a small detail.

Brown.

Her eyes are brown again.

She wonders how long they have been brown before she breathes out heavy, her eyes flickering red. Her red.

* * *

_ 390 days ago, school, 12:05 PM. Friday. _

Skinny. Too skinny.

Ouma pulls down his much too loose of a shirt down, uncomfortably shifting underneath it. He's always uncomfortable in his clothes too big. In his own skin, with his thin bones and weak body that he can't protect anyone with.

He should just stop thinking. Ouma hits his cheeks. Ace, after all, told him he was cute like this. In this thin malnourished body and the tongue of a tongue-tied poet. Saihara kissed him back with these dry lips of his, skin too pale to flush too much. He has a family. He has a  _ fucking cute-ass dog. A dog! _

Ouma internally screams as he slouches back in his chair. It's lunch right now, the kids in his class smiling and laughing and shouting across the room like they're all friends but him. But him. He doesn't mind that as much as he used to.

(In his mind, stays the face of Shuichi Saihara. Someone who approached him first, a hand outreached even when Ouma is scared, reluctant to trust and touch. Maybe that's why Ouma stares too much at Saihara's face, long lashes fanning the bags below his eyes and impassive look. That motherfucking look.  _ Maybe.) _

Ouma tilts his head left, right, rolls it like he can't decide whether he should eat or not. In fact, that's exactly what he's thinking of. Flick a nickel and someone will steal it. Pull out the cards he carries around and people will look at him. Roll a dice and it will roll and roll up until it's off his desk.

"Oh! Confusion!? That  _ absolutely _ won't do!" Someone tells across the room, feminine and high-pitched. Ouma doesn't feel like turning around because he is sure, one-hundred-percent, that it has nothing to do with him.

If it does then,  _ fuck. _

He decides to eat, because his wrists are much too thin and skin around his thigh too tight. Ouma doesn't really remember what he brought for lunch, he couldn't care anyways, so he pulls out a bun and  _ chomps _ on it.

"You! The short small weiner boy with gay panic on his face!" They're still shouting. Can't teenagers for one damn moment, like, shut up? Yeah, that would be appreciated. Especially when Ouma starves himself just to be able to feel safe, clothes that don't quite fit around his wrist tucked, just to be able to get through the day.

Steps, loud. Or maybe it's just because the classroom is dead silent. Dead silent. Dear lord that's such a rare occurrence that Ouma worried there's been a silent mass murder among his class. Or not. Oh well, not like that's any of his problems.

Well, it might be when someone claps impatiently in his face.

He wants to die. He wants, once more, to die and drown. Fill his lungs with flowers until he chokes sick of them, why don't you. The plan of embarrassment from a single clap is more painful, in its own way. But like, not really.

And in his own way, he wants to die.

"—A-Ah!?" Is Ouma's truly delightful belated reaction. Saihara would be proud of him. The noises of the soft voice he can imagine so vividly it scares him. So, so proud. "Um, I— I? Ah, um… Er..?" His own voice is so quiet, so very small compared the shout the girl in front of his desk shouts with. Good.

"You're alive! How splendid!" Her voice is twisted sweet, too sweet for his taste. Not like he has a taste. Taste in food, he means. Wait no, he does, but— She claps again, echoing in the room. "You weren't responding to my polite calls!" Polite as they get, Ouma says to himself.

"I-I'm… sorry?" Ouma apologizes, before pausing. This reminds him of something.

Something?

And then there's a ding in his head loud and clear and  _ fucking hell why does Ouma attract freaks who want to befriend him?  _ He hopes he won't fall for this one. Not like she'll last long. Does Ouma even like girls? Wait, he can think of this later. " **HELLO!?** Oh! You're paying attention again? You're paying attention!"

Oh. Right. Ouma should probably look at her—

_ Death _ . Kill him. Right.  _ Now _ .

She's short, probably shorter than Ouma if she weren't standing. Her skin is pale, and freckles so translucent they were barely there run across her cheeks. A more striking detail is her hair, red. Red? Red. Red… Huh, it's red. It's hard to pinpoint whether her eyes are brown or pink, maybe a hard mixture in between. Probably. Her lips curl into a small pout.

Himiko Yumeno. Ouma remembers her— from a letter or two. Or that might be a lie.

(Ouma didn't look at anyone's pictures, back when Saihara and he were. It felt too personal, too invading. Something a detective would do, push and push and push until the truth was uncovered. But then again detectives never really aimed to discover the truth. They aimed to solve the mystery, to notice small things and details that connect. Not the truth, though.

None of this or that is the truth anyways, so what's the point at all when it's all the same now?)

Except she's wearing beads, so many beads with too many bright colours along her arms that it seems to weigh her down. It probably does. The thought makes Ouma stare. Though he's already staring. Ah. He's being stupid in his head again. How unconcerning.

He remembers Saihara, Saihara with his pretty eyes and pretty face— Ah. And how he did not just admit he likes a guy that he kissed two times. Or five. He remembers Saihara wanting to help him find the rest of the people listed in the letter.

Ouma wonders if he's being a good person or a good dog to Saihara when he curses how he will. 

"H-Hi… Um, Kokichi Ouma, last year in middle school." Fuck fuck fuck fuck  _ fuck— _ Why. Why did he just copy Saihara's— fucking Saihara's intro. Though he's missing the part where he holds out his hand, where he says nice to meet you in a soft and careful yet articulate voice. He's missing the part where at one point Saihara crosses his legs in a chair across him and  _ fucking smirks.  _ "H-Hi."

If repetition was a good luck charm he's sure he could win himself a lottery. Maybe he could replace his name. Nagito Komaeda always had a nice ring to it. Though it reminds him of lanky, cloud people who grow plants swirling around their hair and disappear into the sky. Too, too high into the sky.

Yumeno stares, before bursting out laughing. But it's not like the laugh Saihara described of this Harukawa after hours and hours of hanging out. It's not that giggle where her shoulders shake and it looks like she'll brush into tears any second, crumple to the ground in a deranged mess of emotions. 

No, it looks more like her enemy shitted their pants and it was all too funny.

It takes thirty-five seconds counting for her to stop. But it feels like a lifelong exploration of guilt, pain, happiness and the will to live and die. Maybe that's a story. He's sure it is, because it's really, really cliche. Of course it is, haha. 

Why the fuck is the classroom so quiet. Talk, people.  _ Talk.  _

"You—" She gasps a noise of either pain, exhilaration, or laughter. Maybe none. "Aha, anyways, hi! My name is—" Waffles Dadapon. "Himiko Yumeno!" Hm. Unlucky guess. "And oh my god, you look so, I don't know,  _ gay.  _ A gay weiner. That's you! That fits you perfectly! God, I'm just so brilliant, Aren't I?" She puts her hand on her hips, a tight smile.

Ouma has a feeling wrapped on a string around his finger, that today will be a long day.

But that's alright, he can keep this up a little longer.

* * *

_ 389 days ago, after school, 3:35 PM. Saturday. _

Harukawa wasn't here yesterday. Now she was.

(Ouma wasn't waiting for him either, and since Ouma never texts back he doubts he could have relied on that. Maybe Ouma talked to one of his classmates, maybe he has a group project. Or maybe not. Maybe he's avoiding Saihara.

He tried not to think of it.)

Saihara glances at brown hair a few seats to the left and a few seats up front. Despite the sheets of homework and the promise she wouldn't be here for a week (according to the teacher), Harukawa is here. Breathing. Living. Giggling and laughing.

How amazing.

The classroom is slowly clearing of people, and only a few people are left. Hiraoka and Tao are still talking to each other, smiling genuine smiles and genuine laughs. Hiraki, thick glasses glued to her face like melting plastic. Harukawa, sitting quietly with her eyes flashing over a letter, re-reading it over and over.

Saihara had read the notebook Harukawa gave him, eyes skewering to every word. He read about the eventual downfall of mystery that caused her mother’s suicide, the accidental stress overtime adding up more than she could handle with every word her friend said, the final push. All leading to the present. He remembers seeing it, in her bag. 

(Saihara wasn't sure why, but he left it closed. Not once did he look through it.)

The door opens with a loud slam, shuddering. Black hair, black eyes, prim ironed uniform and black socks. Nagamine. Hair cut at her shoulders as it flutters while she moves.

Her voice is loud, undeniably clear while she speaks in an impatient voice. "Hello,  _ Maki-Roll."  _ There's poison, sharp at her tongue with every word. "You were absent for three days, understandable. I'm sure a murderer like you needs time." Mocking. She's mocking Harukawa.

Harukawa's face crumples, though it's hard not to say she's always been crumbling into a mess.  _ "You weren't there.  _ You weren't there when  _ she started yelling at me."  _ Her words are being hissed, like a cat. Though cats only hiss when they feel dangered by something.

There's a pencil in Harukawa's hand, Saihara notices, a pencil sharpened nicely as her knuckles grow white around it. 

"So you're saying she wouldn't have died if— if I was there? Are you trying to place the blame on me?" Nagamine glares. "We had a  _ program.  _ You would get the snacks, you would get the fucking snacks and— Why was it that day? Your mother commited  _ suicide _ that day, and you killed your friend that day. What's so special about that day for you to kill everyone around you?"

"Don't  _ talk about my mother."  _ Harukawa stands up too quickly, pushing the chair back with a shove and a pencil still in her hand gripped harshly. Saihara wonders if he should interrupt, yell out about how he wants a banana and stop the argument.

No. He doesn't know why Nagamine abruptly came to their classroom yet, and this is their problem.

His eyes flicker yellow as he watches intently.

Nagamine looks at her fingernails, polished and clipped. Her hands have no scratches, clean of anything. "We all know about your mother and her mysterious suicide. Did you ever think it was because of you? Did you ever think she was just, I don't know,  _ sick of you?"  _ Nagamine's eyes are black as she stares into red.

"Fucking bitch—" Harukawa growls, before pausing. Her eyes slowly blink as a huff escapes from her lips, then another, and then she's giggling hard in Nagamine's face. "Wow, low blow  _ Ayano."  _ Ayano. Saihara almost forgot that was Nagamine's first name. It gets hard to remember after a while, he notes. Everything gets hard to remember. "But it seems you forgot about how you used to comfort me, poor little me, about my dead mother, reciting how  _ oh, it wasn't your fault."  _

"That was back when I thought you were  _ normal, _ before you started to watch Danganronpa—" Nagamine frowns, pointing a finger harsh into Harukawa before Harukawa slashes it away. "And. That doesn't stop the fact you murdered. Your. Best. Friend.  _ Murderer." _

"You're the person who made me watch it..!" Harukawa hisses, and there's something still in her hand. Her pencil. She pulls it up, sharp as her hand clenches. And it must feel so easy, so easy to just stab Nagamine.

But she doesn't.

Harukawa points it toward herself. It digs into her uniform, into her skin. She laughs at herself, before saying, "You know, in a way yourself you're a murderer. You knew about how Yume— How, every single word she said and every single little criticism about who I was, every whisper and rumour would add up. Yume only hung out with me because she had a crush on you! She, she only liked you. Not. Me.

"But you did nothing to stop how I used to complain about how I wanted to  _ kill her, how I just wanted to beat her up..!"  _ Harukawa smiles, wide. Her next breath as Saihara can see, is shallow. " If you forgot, you're the one who volunteered to go get the drinks that day."  _ Every single miniscule detail adds up,  _ Saihara's uncle once said. He wasn't particularly wrong.

"Do you know why I came here today, Maki-Roll?" Nagamine smiles back, absolutely symmetric. "I came here to tell you that today is November 19th. The day Yume died. Just thought I should let you know."

"I already knew." Harukawa breathes. "Did you just want to— argue, hah, with me again? Haha, that's so—" Funny. But she doesn't finish her sentence. A look of emotion is on her face, though it's hard for Saihara to pinpoint. 

Nagamine scoffs, "I just want to, I don't  _ know— I—"  _ She glances around, eyes glaring hard into Saihara. He gives her a lazy wave, right to left. Whatever that means. "Saihara, you look like a  _ fucking _ bitch."

And with that last drop of words, she walks out with footsteps clapping harshly to the floor.

Silence, penetrating to the mind of Saihara. There's no time for confusion, because there's a pencil piercing into the skin of Harukawa still, and he's read the notebook so he realized something. Both two sides are guilty, through the neglect of words and verbal abuse. 

"So," Saihara starts, "you're bisexual? You said something about Akana-san liking Nagamine-san more than you, Harukawa-san." Harukawa stares at him, face empty and cold like her hand when the pencil falls. Shock, perhaps.

And then she bursts out laughing, a smile on her face.

"I'm bisexual." Harukawa answers. 

Tao speaks up, "I'm straight as a fucking ruler. Oh— Am I allowed to curse? Sorry." Hiraoka bursts out with a fit of giggles, slapping him in the back. Tao stares, rubbing at the slap mark, embarrassed. "Hey! I'm asking since I never talked to these two much..."

"Whatever you say, Straight-eo." Hiraoka hums, "Ah, I'm pansexual. Though pretty blonde girls with big tits? Ah hell yeah! Or maybe… I like—"

_ "Pretty blonde girls with big tits."  _ Harukawa repeats, and Hiraoka nods. She takes in a breath before shoving her face to the desk, dying of laughter. Though dying of laughter wouldn't be fun, so Saihara yells over to her to take deep breaths.

"Um— Hey! Saihara-kun, Hiraki-san, what type of people would you want to fuck? Oh! Sorry for cursing again!" Tao apologizes, a hand scratching his neck.

Saihara starts speaking at the same time Hiraki stutters out words, "I'm the—." "I-I'm sorry?—" Saihara and Hiraki glance at each other at the same time, one pair of eyes wide and one pair of eyes flickering grey.

"You can go first, Hiraki-san." Saihara tells her, "And, ah, I have to apologize for you about what I asked you to do a few days ago. Stealing is not quite your thing, it seems. I didn't add that to the equation." Tao stares with furrowed brows and a smile, making a confused noise as Hiraoka widens her eyes on realization.

Harukawa giggles.

"O-Oh! Don't worry, Saihara-kun… Um, it was a little my fault since, I just really wanted someone to talk to me and was… so, so happy when you did." Ah. That must be the reason she was lying when he first talked to her. She  _ would _ have done it. She seems to be a good person then. Or at least a good citizen. "Er, I haven't really thought of it much..? I—"

"Oh my god, she's so fucking pure… Never thought about it much..." Tao squints. Hiraoka whispers something to his ear and he gasps and kicks her.

"Oh! I don't mind being your friend, Hiraki-san, if you don't mind being friends with a murderer." Harukawa looks all too happy to say that, before laughing.

Hiraki stares, shocked. "A murderer..? You're, really not, Harukawa-san… In fact, I've. Um. Always kind of admired you in middle school!" She puts her fists up in the air. Her kindness burns into Saihara and that scares him. Scares? Scares. He's not scared, but it's an exaggeration. 

"Middle school..? You were in our middle school, Hiraki-san!? I never— I never noticed you. Oh my god…" Hiraoka frowns to herself. 

"I can't remember middle school." Saihara adds in.

Harukawa chirps. "I was too busy!" Nobody questions either of them.

"In middle school, god… I dated way too goddamn many girls back then." Tao runs a hand through his hair, "I'm like the harem anime plain protagonist. Aren't I fucking great, Hiraoka-san?" He gives her a wide smile, and Hiraoka makes a disgusted face before turning back.

"Saihara… answer the question now!" Hiraoka says, "You owe me a question after I paid for your drink." With Saihara's money. "Oh, my legs… I even went down to the cold drinks for you! There's only two of the beverage machines with it as well…" She moans of her pain.

"I'm the same as Harukawa. Bisexual." Saihara states punctually.

Harukawa speaks up, a giggle barely past her lips, "So you're dating the guy one year younger than us who comes for you almost everyday at the gate? Because I'm not gonna lie, but he looks pretty gay." Saihara rolls his eyes. He wonders what makes up gay-nes.

"Oh! Guys, we should probably leave the classroom, but should we get some ice cream?" Hiraoka asks, leaning forward as her feet tap on the floor. "Of course, Tao-kun has nothing to do so of course he'll come! It's not like he has any dates, and if he does I'll force him to  _ cancel _ it." Tao throws a man at her shoulder with a grin.

"That sounds, hm, fun!" Harukawa's smile shines on her face, her pencil on the floor because she hasn't bothered to pick it up yet. "I'm down!"

Hiraki pipes up with a small frown through her thick glasses, hair falling down before she can stop it. "A-Ah… Isn't it too cold for ice cream? Sorry, I'm just worried that it might be too cold for you four…" Her hands fly up to defend her from no one but herself. "I'm, um, if I can come… Yeah."

"That's the fun part." Tao chimes. He glances to Saihara, scratching his cheek with a wobbly smile. "Are you in, Saihara-kun?"

"Sure."

(He tries not to think of Ouma.)

* * *

_ 388 days ago, weekend, 3:29 AM. Sunday. _

_"Hi,_ _my name is Maki Harukawa, and even though I’m not particularly good at writing, I’ll try. I’m not really sure what to call this notebook, with too many words that it made my hand turn red from holding the pen too hard. It’s not a story though."_

Saihara sets a book, sturdy in its cover, down next to his pile of recorded Danganronpa games. He's almost forgotten about how obsessed he used to be with the game. There are posters on his wall, he has merchandise, and he has a black and white jacket matching Monokuma.

_ " _ _ I guess I could start when I was born. February second, right in the middle of the day a mere fifteen years ago. I think I was born a little premature, that little me with stubby toes and shut-tight eyes. My father wasn’t there, too busy working." _

It's less interesting than he remembers. Danganronpa, he means.

_ " _ _ I don’t remember much, but I know they kept me in a room next to my mother’s bed, corners wrapped in safety tape and the walls coloured red. A unisex colour, since they wanted my gender to be a surprise." _

He runs a hand through his hair, relaxing his stiff shoulders before abruptly standing up. (He stayed up last night, has been having trouble sleeping after reading Harukawa's situation. There's a single reason why. Not because he feels bad, not because he feels sick, but because of how blonde hair, red painted nails seem so familiar.)

_ "As I grew, the house moved around its order a bit. The knives were kept out in a knife block, rarely ever used. My mother’s bed disappeared and she went back to sleeping in her old room across from my father’s in the thin hall. I don’t remember being able to use the stove back then, but my mother enjoyed baking a lot and wanted me to bake with her when we were older, calling me like Maki-Roll." _

There's a doorbell ringing downstairs, harshly hitting his ears as he steps down his stairs one by one. Sounds seem louder, Saihara notices, than he thinks they actually are. Probably from lack of sleep.

_ "Though it’s too bad she never had a chance." _

Saihara opens the door with a loud snap, and to his surprise is a tired fragile boy too small and too thin covered in too big clothes. "Ouma-kun, I'd ask why you'r up at 3 AM knocking on my door but,"  _ Saihara just wants to hug him,  _ "I'll let you come in first."

_ "It happened when I started to go to school, when I was around in 1st grade. There was a teen who started to come to our house, though my memory is a bit of a blur when I start to think of her. Blonde hair, doll-like plastic skin. Red painted nails. She used to come over to have tea with my mother, their conversation unclear." _

Ouma smiles in relief, "T-Thank god… If you weren't awake, I would walk all the way back since I didn't inform anyone I was, um, c-coming here." Ouma glances around nervously, as though under flashlight and detective. He adds quickly, "I also brought snacks." 

_ "It was on November 19th, the day my mother died. It wasn’t as shocking as you think it would be, not as painful as a child should feel when they spot their mother hung by a noose. I think I stood there for a minute, silent, but not in shock. I was thinking about something, though again it's all a bit of a blur." _

There are bags underneath Ouma's eyes.

_ "Not a lot happened after. She died, not much of a shock. Tears, a lot of tears. Not from me, but from my father. I didn't cry. I couldn't. I laughed instead. It was funny and horrible and the thought made me feel sick." _

"Cool." Saihara nods, letting Ouma come in. "Upstairs? My uncle didn't come home last night, in case you're wondering." Ouma makes an 'O' face and silently agrees. Saihara quickly locks the door while Ouma sets his shoes down, and they head upstairs. 

_ "Enter: middle school. I had a few friends. Hikaru Kondo and Kaito Momota. The two came separate, I would talk to one during class and talk to the other during lunch. I always noticed how stiff Hikaru felt around me, about how he would try to comfort me and bring me little gifts somedays. Kaito was the opposite, stuffing my face once in a pie. I never liked talking with him. Or both of them." _

Ouma sits on the bed, setting down his backpack with a heave and sighs. Relaxing, Ouma asks, "Did anything… happen? T-To you, while I was gone, I mean." Saihara pauses, wondering if he should show Ouma the book.

_ "It all felt fake, or maybe I'm just thinking too much." _

He ultimately decides not to. Saihara hums, before beginning to explain Nagamine and Harukawa, putting up the excuse that "they were friends before an incident." when Ouma asked how they knew each other. Though Ouma never asked how he knew that during the explanation. The party and how oddly frustrated Harukawa seemed to be, Saihara going over to her house, the small argument yesterday.

_ "He used to call my Maki-Roll. I hate that name so much. It means no significance, and it was a fine name before, it's just. You know. Trauma. Before my mom used to call me that. Kaito did it on purpose, seemingly forgetting how much I wanted to throw up everytime I heard it. Though, I never did. I just laughed." _

Ouma stares for a moment, before frowning. 

_ "I met Ayano Nagamine five days after Hikaru confessed to me. I didn't like him, I don't think I ever will the way he did with me. Ayano was a relaxed person at heart, a truly good one. Her and I became the closest of friends. She knew about my mother, I knew about her adoption." _

"Detective as always, Saihara-senpai..." Ouma mutters, his voice dragging out the sentence. "A-Ah… right. Something also happened to me." Saihara waits a few seconds for Ouma to continue. "I met Yumeno, um… chan."

_ "Meeting _ Y _ ume Akana came soon after. She was quiet at first, then began to become controlling, in a way. Rumours. Discrimination in the group. Off-handed complaints about me right to my face. But that was fine for me. I was happy enough. I stopped talking to Kaito, though Yume still called me by that stupid fucking name. We got matching necklaces and everything." _

"She's not in high school then, if you're using the right honorific." Saihara observes, and Ouma swallows before nodding.

_ "And then came November 19th again. Something happened. Since I usually am the one getting the drinks, Ayano said she would get the drink that day to let me rest. Yume started talking about my mother, saying something, swaying her red hair in her pinky. Started pushing her luck, getting too close to the edge." _

"She's, um. She's in my class." Ouma says more punctually than he has the entire time they've known each other. "I guess I never noticed her..? Um." Saihara's gaze is not hard or soft when he looks at Ouma with yellow eyes.

_ "So I told her how I felt about her. How much I hated her." _

Then Saihara looks away. "Okay."

_ "She asked me if I would push her off and I told her yes. She took a step too far and fell. The last thing I saw on her face was that she was smiling. It was kind of hard to watch but my eyes couldn't turn away. She landed on her head first, landed hard. I think her skull cracked, blood around her face." _

"Okay?" Ouma. "Oh… Okay, then. So. I-I wanted to tell you that… um, sorry for not meeting with you the past few days. I would call, but… I don't really like using my phone." Saihara can see from the lack of messages Ouma has given to him.

_ "Ayano came up to the roof. She turned to me. Came over. Glanced down. Gasped. Heavy breaths as she ran down the steps. I left before I could realize my heartbeat was faster than I could move. _

He simply nods.

_ "Kaito was the person who made me not go to jail. He was hiding behind the stairs with his friends, lied and lied and lied to the teacher that I was with them the entire time. His gang went with him. He always had a weird charisma that had people follow him. I asked him once why he did that for me, he responded that it was because he knew I killed her. There was a look in his eyes that made me not want to question any more." _

"O-Oh! And also, I told Yumeno-chan about you… um. And apparently she has a letter herself." Despite Saihara's lack of sleep, he twists to Ouma and stares intently. "It doesn't have everyone's names like yours does, or a summary… it, it just reads something about a girl? A girl and something about a pink drink of something."

_ "We didn't talk after that." _

Saihara thinks for a moment, rolling his sleeve up as he bluntly states, "Tenko Chabashiro."

_ "The rumours exploded, as one would expect. It wasn't hard to do one thing and have people talk behind my back, or in front. I didn't mind, since I did kill her, and I know that's my fault. I'm just not ready to admit it." _

(Saihara doesn't think too much about the pink drink, because when he does his head feels like it's splitting in half. Pink drinks and a blonde girl with crystal blue eyes, because of fucking course.)

_ "Ayano started to become a clean freak, a rather guarded person and I knew we couldn't ever become friends again after she poured water on me. Hikaru broke up with me of course, overwhelmed with the girl he's been dating for 5 months. I don't blame him. The murder was on the news, and I think my dad saw it. If he did, he didn't talk about it." _

Ouma speaks up again, face a little flustered. "You… I almost forgot you memorized everyone's names…" Saihara nods, grabbing a snack out of Ouma's bag. "Hey! W-Wait, that one's for someone. I'm seeing later, um, after this."

_ "Some people could say it's ridiculous for me to think I'm the one who killed her when I saw with my own two eyes her kill herself. They're so funny, those types of people, because they don't seem to understand me." _

Saihara stares at Ouma, then back at the bag of worm gummies, before ripping it open. "Look me in the face and say that when I see seven more in your bag. You're not a good liar either." Ouma furrows his brows, groaning as he runs his temples.

_ "You don't have to kill someone to be a killer in this context. What do you think it would have been like if I said no? If I tried to stop her? I knew what she was doing, almost off the edge, but I didn't stop her. This isn't a story, and I'm a killer." _

"That's what you think, Saihara-senpai…" Ouma grumbles, "Say."

_ "Do I make you angry as you read this, or maybe unamused by oh, how unfortunate my predictable tragic story was? Do you feel bored as my life is laid flat in front of you with all its problems and all my faults as I go insane? Am I just some story to you? Do you think it's a simple solve and done problem?" _

"Say what?" Saihara has to ask, because Ouma abruptly stopped, biting his lip hard as if thinking too much. There's that look on his face, a look Saihara remembers seeing back when Ouma kissed his cheek. A little too blank and a little too serious.

_ "That's funny if you do. So, so funny." _

"What would you do if my personality was all some… um, fake thing..? J-Just asking!" Ouma panics, rushing to cover his face. He's embarrassed probably. Saihara leans down to stare at Ouma's face as he says his words.

_ "I'm not really sure how to end this, since I'm not really good at writing and this is a really bad summary I'm sure, so I guess I'll end the way the Elementary teachers told me to. Hi. My name is Maki Harukawa and I am a killer, this is not a story, and I'm not okay." _

"How about this? I'll kiss you, if you were lying this entire time. And that kiss wouldn't be," Saihara pauses, "fake." Ouma gives him a smile, through his hands. "Okay, weirdo?"

Ouma responds with a small smile and a shaky breath, "Okay, weirdo."

_ "I'm not quite ready to get over her murder, or ready to tell a police or therapist about my situation. I'm not quite ready to talk to a therapist at all, and I don't think I ever will.  _

_ But that's okay, because I'm not ready to move on. I want to bask in my memories and laugh until I feel sick for right now. But soon I'll be ready and I'll be able to get better.  _

_ Does that make sense? For me to want to let my mind think about everything more than I should for not but I know I'll move on? It probably doesn't. I mean, why would someone want to feel hurt and broken? That's utterly ridiculous. I'm being sarcastic. If you can't tell. For the dense people. Though I'm sure that to the person I give this notebook to that they're smart. _

_ Anyways, I want to feel sick a little longer, and though I know that's not good I just need to get it out of my system before I put up walls and try to go to therapy and look okay even when I know I'll never truly be. _

_ Let me show my true self because I'm not ready to change just yet. But soon. _

_ Soon, I'll try to get better for not myself, not you, not anyone I know. But just because people say that's better than feeling broken. _

_ I'm just rambling now though, aren't I? _

_ Haha, sorry." _

* * *

_ 387 days ago, school, 3:09 AM. Monday. _

If Saihara was to exaggerate, he would say he was bored.

It seems Hiraoka, Tao, and Hiraki have decided that Harukawa and Saihara are now all a part of some imaginary friend group after Tao spilt his ice cream on Hiraki and they all went to her house a couple of days ago.

"Hey Harukawa-san, why do you get to never do gym?" Tao asks curiously, leaning over down on the bench. His voice seems to be a whisper, but Hiraoka tells him he's being too loud. He flicks her forehead, "Shut up, Hiraoka."

"San." Hiraki adds. "Also, please be quiet when the teacher is telling something!"

"Oh? You're asking me why I never do it? My father sent a complaint about something and now I'm not really allowed to do gym with other people. Though I definitely exercise, don't worry." Harukawa explains, elbows on her knees as the gym teacher screams at a student.

Saihara decides to pitch in, "What do you exercise? Any… sports?" He isn't whispering like everyone else, but the gym teacher doesn't say anything.

"Depends." Harukawa says in a careful tone, "It's classified."

She ends the conversation there, and yet nobody questions it. Saihara thinks as time in the gym passes. They play dodgeball that day, until someone knocks the ball up too high and it hits the juncture in the ceiling light fixtures. It doesn't come down, or any of the other balls up there.

How unfortunate.

They go to the lockers, and Hiraoka says something about how the one time two girls started intercoursing in the lockers once. Must have happened back in middle school then, Saihara decides in his mind as he goes to the boys' locker and fumbles with the locker he put his clothes in.

When he's done changing, he re-straightens his tie and places his jacket in his bag. 

"Ah. Hiraki-san, you changed rather quickly." Saihara notes. She fiddles with the hem of her sweater, before pushing her glasses in and silently nodding. Tao soon comes out, eyes staring unfocused at the clock. "Should I start walking or wait for the other's?"

None of the two have time to answer before someone in the girl's bathroom starts yelling, loud. 

Tao whistles, "Wonder what's going on in there."

"Should I… check..?" Hiraki asks quietly.

And then two people burst out of the girls' lockers. Harukawa and Hiraoka, one grimacing and one laughing. Harukawa goes over to the gym teacher, muttering something before bursting out giggling. 

The gym teacher, face going white as they rush to the girls' lockers. There's screams inside, and Harukawa seems to find it funny. Or maybe she's laughing for a different reason. Probably.

"What's going on in there?" Tao asks, tapping on Hiraoka's shoulder. She turns around, a hand on Harukawa's shoulder. " Oh god… something bad happened, didn't it?" 

Hiraoka nods. "Yeah. Harukawa-san was trying to find her jacket, but for some reason it was at the bottom of the shower. We started asking everyone why it was in there and nobody seemed to know… I wonder who did it."

"Huh." Is all Saihara says.

Harukawa sighs, rolling her eyes as she crosses her arms. "I know what's happening. I'll deal with it… later." She doesn't laugh as she goes to the homeroom again for the final time that day. Though Saihara, to be quite disturbingly honest, is sure she can't deal with it.

After the teacher is done looking at the mess, they walk out and make an announcement. 

It's a quick class trial, when everyone figures it out. Saihara doesn't know the girl who hangs her head as the teacher scolds her not to put jackets in showers as if it's not already common knowledge.

Harukawa isn't even here to laugh.

* * *

_ 380 days ago, after school, 4:09 AM. Monday. _

Saihara is wordless, as his hands are gripped behind the table when Harukawa gives him a wide smile and a wave, the first words she's said in a week being:

"Flim flam, Saihara-kun!" Her hair is braided, reaching down too low for Saihara to see. There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with her tone, posture, or face expressions. Which is exactly why he wonders how she can look so weird. "And purple-head." 

Ouma, who he brought along, has his eyes go wide and his face turn pink. There's a Checkered scarf around his neck, shifting as he fidgets back. "P-Purple-heard… Um, yes, hi— or h-hello..?" His arms go frazzled, jumping up with surprise when Harukawa leans over the table with her sharp red eyes.

"Hm..? Kokichi Ouma. Kokichi Ouma… Ah! I see! Flim flam Ouma-kun." Harukawa says, before sitting politely back into her spot. For a moment, there's that look in Ouma's eyes, and the two talking exchange a glance that Saihara pretends not to see. A look of distrust? Hatred. On edge. It's hard for Saihara to explain. 

"H-How do you..?" Ouma asks, back in his stutter apprehensive voice.

_ "Why."  _ Saihara interrupts, fingers tapping on the glaze to the table. Maybe it'll break, shatter, and fall into pieces. Though it's unlikely, since it's stronger than it looks. 

Harukawa glances over, "God, aren't you impatient today. I just met a small checkered cinnamon thing today!  _ Look. At. His. Face."  _ Her hands point towards Ouma, face burning when ignoring his deathly pale skin tone.

And then she laughs, like it's so funny it's breaking her. Saihara continues, "Why have you been gone at school for a week? I thought you were going to continue going to school." 

"Mm…" she giggles, "I wanted to put the free absences I could do this week to use." Harukawa's eyes are red, as always. And as always, Ouma shivers in the corner of Saihara's eyes. "I was just like, hey! Let's do nothing today."

"Be more responsible." Saihara tells her before someone at the front calls Ouma's name. He gives a small wave to Saihara and a stutter barely heard, then dashes off to get the drinks. "Is that really true? Just because of the free absences?"

There's a portrait, placed in an elegant frame where Harukawa's eyes fall. "Hm… She looks hot." The woman in it is standing far in the portrait, her shadow quite large. Saihara can't see the actual woman though.

Huh. Cool.

"Harukawa-san, I've seen your life story and have watched you indicate unstable behaviour on repeat with an inconsistent pattern. You can tell me anything, so why. Why? Why did you take that absence? Does it have something to do with your jacket, and if so… what does that jacket even mean to you?" Saihara pushes.

Harukawa smiles, pulling something out of her bag, because she's not wearing a jacket.on a cold day like this. "Why are you asking me? You're the detective. Figure it out." A letter, in her hand. Rumpled at the edge. White. A red print at the front.

She hands it over.

Saihara looks down at it, his two hands wrapped around it. Then looks up at Harukawa. He carefully folds it open and stares at the written words as if they are morse code. He skims over it before putting it away.

Detective. Danganronpa. Monokuma. Killer. Purple hair and lies on the tip of his tongue. 

(There are things he recognizes. Things that seem so familiar it's almost as if he has experienced it himself. Ultimate Detective, himself. Danganronpa, the show he's heard that's recently starting back up again after 20 years. Monokuma, black and white bear drawn in with a grin. Killer, assassin.

And Ouma.)

Saihara feels calmer than he thinks he should. Though that's fine, since he was never really 

"H-Here's your drink, Saihara-senpai…" Ouma stutters as his eyes stare down at the three drinks in his hand. "And, Harukawa-san." Huh. Ouma hands the drink over, eyes nervously glancing to Saihara, then Harukawa, and then back to his lone drink as scoots in his seat.

"Harukawa-san? Why does Harukawa-san get san, while I get senpai?" Saihara amuses, and Ouma swallows. There's a look of disdain in his eyes, though Saihara isn't too sure who it's pointed to. 

There's a moment of the noise of background music from America, lines hitting the background before Ouma speaks.

_ "Yesterday I heard you say _

_ Your lust for life has gone away _

_ It got me thinking, I think I feel a similar way _

_ And that's sad (that's sad)" _

"It…" There's a crack in his voice. "Feels  _ wrong."  _ What a wonderful explanation. Harukawa claps in the background, clearly giggling when there's a noise falling out of her mouth. "H-Hey! Please don't l-laugh..."

Her laugh gets louder.

Saihara reads the letter more thoroughly later that day.

It seems, Harukawa got a letter from her future self as well.

(He'd feel interested really, but he can't feel a thing as he places the letter on his desk with his own, one shorter than the other. There's more missing, still  _ more, _ Saihara knows. So he'll continue on searching for the rest of the cast to this game.

Though he never planned to quit.)

* * *

_ 379 days ago, school, 12:45 AM. Tuesday. _

Her legs stand stiffly at the ledge, the too tall gate staring down at her as she shifts in place.

Saihara sits, monochrome jacket with pockets pushed forward over. Leaning over he can see Nagamine, black hair pushed forward and frowning. Harukawa is downstairs, behind the stairs with her hands behind her waist. Or maybe she's laughing with their new group of strange friends. He isn't sure, because Nagamine called him over to the roof without a second notice.

"Saihara-kun." Nagamine mutters, staring down at her fingernails. They're polished, but not painted. "Does Maki trust you?" Saihara shifts, standing up. He's thinking of Ouma, and Yumeno. His uncle, perhaps. He'll go to his uncle's office after school.

(His mind drifts when he's stressed. Stressed? Saihara thinks that's the right feeling. Though he's never quite sure.)

Then he thinks about Harukawa. The first time they talked. When Harukawa eats lunch with Saihara. And then over, and over, and over. The party. Then going to her house, the notebook she gave him. November 19th came and passed. There's no straight answer to Nagamine's question, really, so he answers simple with his blank face and voice far away, "How the fuck would I know?"

Nagamine bursts out laughing, hands to her stomach and forced. It takes her a few minutes to calm down, and Saihara waits. "God, Saihara-kun, you're so utterly stupid."

"I am." Saihara agrees. "Why do you want to know? Why Harukawa-san trusts me, I mean."

"Hm…" She hums as she juggles her balance left to right. And then she smiles. "Because I know her. I know how to mess with her head, you know? I'm not even sure why I'm doing all of this, this bullying, this taunting, this  _ behaviour.  _ I'm really— really, not sure." Nagamine frowns at the end. She's chipping at her fingernails now.

"Yes. Talk to me, your psychiatrist. Talk to me about all your problems. Smart choice." Saihara's sarcastic, though Nagamine doesn't seem to mind.

She starts again, "I know what I'm doing. And, I don't need a fucking psychiatrist." Tell that to your psychiatrist, Saihara thinks. The clear polish of her nails are coming off. "I… don't know. What to do." She looks over to Saihara, eyes shining. "Can I punch you?"

"No." Is Saihara's solemn reply.

"Hm, too bad." Nagamine says with a sigh, "Hey, has Maki told you about her story? I've seen that notebook before. Those notebooks. She's been writing them since Elementary, after her mother commited suicide." The way she says it is so carefree, yet it carries an undertone of something. "Her father told her to."

Saihara ponders how she still remembers. "Cool."

"What view did she put me in? What version did she tell you about?" Nagamine, continues. She stares out the top of the roof, through the barred-up fences too old and rusted. "Maybe I should apologize. Maybe I shouldn't. Hey, Saihara-kun, do you ever want to lay down and never wake up?"

Saihara isn't sure, to any of those questions.

And that's it.

* * *

_ 378 days ago, after school, 4:23 PM. Wednesday. _

The situation is strange, the four of them standing awkwardly at the doorway of Saihara's house. Ouma's eyes shift bright neon purple as he smiles anxiously. Saihara glances over at Ouma, then at Harukawa, and then Nagamine.

It's a weird crowd, when Nagamine passed Harukawa and him a letter. _'Hey I'm going to bring Maki to your house and follow you.'_ A rather blunt letter, Saihara notes. Ouma, coincidentally, happened to be waiting at Saihara's house.

"I'll… go upstairs. Have fun talking outside the front of my door, Harukawa-san, Nagamine-san…" Saihara starts to say, hand raising before falling back to his side. Ouma looks at him with pleading eyes, still glowing bright. "Ouma-kun, come with me—"

"Yes." Ouma mumbles immediately.

"Are you trying to get rid of me, Saihara-kun?" Nagamine asks, arms crossed. "God. You motherfucker. You're such a bitch, even when I came all this way here." Harukawa giggles, shoulder raising a little.

Saihara ponders a little, before saying, "No."

"I'm breaking in." Nagamine says solemnly, "God… It really isn't worth it to get my hands dirty." Harukawa laughs harder and Ouma flinches back into Saihara before uncomfortably shuffling away from Saihara. 

The checkered scarf around Ouma's neck almost falls when Nagamine reaches over to him, before narrowing her eyes. "Flincher. Anyways, let me in Saihara-kun. I don't have time for you to be stupid." Saihara smiles.

"No."

Eventually he lets them in after Ouma points out that eventually the two females would start talking to each other, and Saihara would be missing what would be happening. So, eventually, Saihara lets them in.

Harukawa smiles, voice polished and pleasant. "Do you happen to have any tea, Saihara-kun?" Saihara stares for a moment. Blinks. Then nods slowly. "What type of tea?"

"Coffee, type of tea."

Harukawa stares for a moment. Blinks. Then laughs. "Hah, no. I'm good. Say, hey, got any snacks then?" Ouma frowns and walks to the kitchen in silence. "Ah? Hah? Hahah? Where's Ouma-kun going?"

"I have no idea, Harukawa-san. Probably getting the snacks out to show you. He seems to like you? No, he seems to know you." Saihara shrugs, stepping on the first step on the stairs. "Anyways, let's go upstairs to my room. Since, it echoes a little too much down here."

"This situation," Nagamine states as she walks upstairs with him, "is so weird."

"You started it." Harukawa replies with a fit of giggles. The end of the conversation is there.

It's awkward when they enter Saihara's room. Nagamine sits on Saihara's chair, Harukawa stiffly going to the floor. They don't really talk about anything until Ouma walks in. He wasn't wearing his school uniform, he must have changed then coming to Saihara's house.

"U-Um… I was refrigerating some pineapple slices. And… I also have some soda. Here. In my, uh, hand." Ouma stutters, holding up a plate of something yellow and small. There's a Panta bottle in his other hand.

"I didn't know I had pineapple at my house." Saihara articulates with boredom boring into his words. "Thanks for letting me know, Ouma-kun." Ouma blinks slowly at Saihara, before setting the plate down on the bed.

Nagamine frowns. "I don't like pineapple. Anyways, everyone knows why they're here. Though, the flincher…" she pauses, her fingers wrapping around a pencil on Saihara's desk. Then she glares at it, letting it go and rubbing her hand on her clothes. "The Flincher can stay. For now."

"Huh.  _ Thanks."  _ Ouma responds, out of character.

"Why am I here? And why my house?" Saihara asks, almost interrupting into Ouma. "Why are you two in my house?"

Harukawa giggles.

Nagamine looks at him like he's supposed to know. Like he's forgotten. But he obviously hasn't. "I wanted to ask Maki a question. Before I decide something."

"But why at my house?" Saihara raises an eyebrow. 

Nagamine shrugs, "So, what happened, Maki?"

Harukawa's eyes glare into Nagamine. "Don't." Harukawa starts to say, "Don't call me by my first name." Ouma glances to Saihara, who glances at him. He almost seems confused, but Ouma doesn't say anything. Then he snaps his head back at Harukawa's abrupt laughter. "What do you mean, what happened?"

"What happened while I was getting the drinks, back when Yume was alive?" Nagamine asks again. Harukawa stares, before bursting out into laughter. "I never asked, did I?" Harukawa frowns.

"Why do you want to know? After all these years? After everything?" There's a panicked look in her eyes. Almost. Almost a look of despair.

Nagamine answers after too long of a wait, "I'm tired." That's all there is to her response.

It's even longer before Harukawa finally responds to Nagamine. "She started to argue with me, I'm not sure why, about my mother. Started going too far. Then suddenly, she paused her sentence and then brought something else up. She asked me if I wanted to oust her off the roof.

"And I said yes."

Nagamine stares at her, and then at Harukawa.

"Are you telling the truth?" Nagamine asks, her voice breaking a little. Her voice is still, not hesitating as she leans forward. Harukawa nods politely, her eyes bright red as she shifts a little. "I."

She apologizes and leaves. Her last words are, "That's all I wanted to know." 

* * *

_ 377 days ago, school, 12:05 PM. Thursday. _

He leans forward, his feet on top of his desk with his hands on the back of his head. His jacket is neatly wrapped around his shoulders, a loose shirt on. Momota isn't too sure why, but he gets a chill down his spine when his fingers brush something in his pocket.

"Hey, Kaito, come on! Let's get lunch." Someone he cannot remember the name of says. But Momota has memorized the patterns this person does. They pay for their meals, not his drinks. Laughs too loud. Too nosy. Pretends too hard.

(Momota does not pretend. He is not a liar. It's just that no one asks him the right questions. Nobody asks him anything anymore. They just sit and watch and smile at him like he is someone above them.

So Momota observes and sees the sheep and the leader.)

Momota shakes his head. "Nah bro, I'm good." He stands up, legs too tall as he tries to tangle it out the desk. "I think I'll go to Maki-Roll's class, 'ya know? Heard her and Ayano talked a few days ago. Heard Ayano finally realized Maki-Roll never killed anyone." The person in front of his pauses.

Before bursting out laughing. "Hahahaha! Funny joke, Kaito. Well, have fun I guess."

_ Pretends too hard.  _

He walks up to the third story, going to the room. Momota really isn't sure why he assumes Harukawa would be here in the room, especially since he remembers her habit of going to the roof even after Yume died, after the school let the people come back to the roof.

When he doesn't spot Harukawa, Momota goes up to the roof. He still remembers the teacher told them they weren't allowed on the roof, not that it mattered since the doors were meant to be locked. But they weren't. Harukawa stole the key, he thinks.

"Ah. Hello Momota-kun." Navy hair. Yellow glowing eyes. Long eyelashes. Shuichi Saihara, no doubt about it. "What are you doing here on the roof?"

Someone else glares at Momota, "Are… Oh! Momota-senpai, you're not supposed to be on the roof!" Saihara stares boredly at them, before yawning. "Please, um, don't tell the teachers we're on the roof either." Harukawa, hair braided by someone giggles.

"Got it." Momota snaps his fingers at them.

"What are you doing on the roof anyways?" A fourth person asks, leaning on the fences blocking people from jumping off. 

Momota hums before grinning, eyes glittering space. "Wanted to talk to Maki-Roll." Harukawa freezes, before laughing again. She didn't do that before, back in middle school before Akana jumped off the roof. She was more solemn, more quiet with her red glowing eyes and all that talk about weapons. "Don't know why. Just wanted to."

There's five other people on the roof, they all look at each other and gaze before Saihara stands up. "I'm leaving then. I would rather not bother you while you're talking with Harukawa." Though it's clear he would ask her later, and she would respond truthfully. Plus it's not like he was going to talk about anything important with her.

"I'm not leaving Harukawa-san alone with him." The girl sitting closest to Harukawa grumbles, crossing her arms. The guy, the fourth person nods. "Hey! Tao-kun, you're supposed to act more energetic! Come on, dude!"

"Ah..? Then, I suppose I'll stay." Saihara mutters.

Harukawa laughs when Momota sits down and begins talking.

(He's not very observant, just memorized patterns people don't pay attention to when people talk, he notices their behaviours and how he can use them. That's why he tries not to realize how he's paying too much attention to the conversation. 

He's not even sure why he's here. Maybe it's the names on the envelope he got back in October, or maybe it's the fact he remembers talking with Harukawa back in middle school and told the truth for her. Or maybe, maybe, he's just manipulating everything again, maybe he's controlling everything even though he tried to stop.

Momota is sure he's thinking too much.)

"Are you okay, Momota-senpai?" Someone asks, thick glasses covering their face. Saihara glances up at her and hands her a bottle of something. They wait a second before Momota nods.

"Yeah, I'm doin' good."

* * *

_ 376 days ago, after school, 4:05 PM. Friday. _

"Hey, want to hear a joke?" Saihara starts, as the two were waiting for Harukawa to arrive at DICE. A girl, with long brown hair running down to her knees in a braid is sitting with them, eating something loudly. Jack, is her name, from what Saihara has learned. Ouma plays with a strand of his hair and nods hesitantly.

"W-What's the—" Jack stands up and begins to go away somewhere, jumping at one of the twins, Queen at another table working on some paperwork. "Oh! B-Bye Jack… Um, what's the. What's the joke?"

Saihara ponders for a moment before explaining, "So a guy walks into a bar and the bartender says,  _ ‘Tell me a joke and I’ll give you a drink for free’ _ so the guy says,  _ ‘So a guy walks into a bar and the bartender says, ‘Tell me a joke and I’ll give you a drink for free’ so the guy says, ‘So a guy walks into a bar and the bartender says, ‘Tell me a joke and I’ll give you a drink for free’ so the guy says ‘so—" _

Ouma blinks at Saihara, before saying, "Fucking hell, Saihara-senpai."

There's a drink in front of Ouma, pink and filled with unusual pink bubbles. (It hurts Saihara's head, the way it fizzles around while Ouma drinks it.) "I'll just imagine you liked it then." Saihara takes a sip of his own drink, "How have you been doing?"

"Um… I-I'm tired. My homework has been adding up lately and Yumeno-chan drains a lot out of me..." Ouma responds, his hand resting on his drink. "Why do you ask?" Saihara gazes blankly at Ouma, and then he sips his drink again.

Saihara shrugs, "Just becau—"

"Oh! Hey, Saihara-kun, Ouma-kun. So… next to the flower shop." Harukawa waves, wide, as she smiles. "This is a pretty aesthetic place. Checkered floor, Rainbow tablecloths… Huh. Real aesthetic." Ouma shifts his checkered scarf around his neck.

"Ah." Saihara says.

Ouma widens his eyes in fear of something, and he opens his mouth before shutting it. Then he says, "Hi. You can… um, sit down. Over by this side. U-Um..." He finishes when Harukawa comes closer.

Harukawa starts giggling, "So! Danganronpa. Or more specifically, the letters."

Ouma glances around wildly, before abruptly standing. "W-We're going upstairs. In my bedroom." Kinky. "And… Saihara-senpai, please don't say that ever again." Ah. Saihara must have said that outloud.

"Huh." Harukawa mumbles, before laughing. She's louder than the tapping choices of the stairs as they go up. "I've never heard Saihara-kun say that before!" Saihara tends to observe more than be the communicator when he hangs out with Harukawa. Ouma was more quiet, more shy and awkward; it was better to talk than to just observe with him.

"Mood." Harukawa reacts to Ouma's room. "Your room is a real mood." She sets herself down on the chair. "So… the letters. Danganronpa. Let's talk." She searches Ouma, "I'm also curious about this guy's lack of reaction…" Ouma's eyes flicker neon.

"I-I'm not surprised since Saihara-senpai— Um, and Yumeno-chan." His voice is almost in a whisper as Ouma moves to sit on his bed. Saihara sits next to him, watching the way they talk to each other. Harukawa seems to dislike Ouma, and Ouma reciprocates the feeling.

Harukawa giggles, because the stars aren't crawling on her back and she looks absolutely fine. Ah, is Saihara doing sarcasm right? He sure hopes so. "Saihara-kun has a letter like mine? How absolutely…" Her eyes fall to Saihara, her glare harsh. "delightful." And then she chokes out laughter like her blood is being drained.

"What is it about?" Harukawa asks after with a symmetric smile, crossing her legs. They're brown now, her eyes, so utterly dull as she stares at the two males. "Because mine as you've read, is just a summary about basic information that matches up with what's happening right now, like Danganronpa starting again, and me being a killer. An assassin." Red eyes.

(It makes Saihara head stop working when he stares, like it is rewiring itself and it needs to stop working in order to do so. It's a weird feeling, and he doesn't like the way it makes him feel so out of place in his own body.)

"I'm a Detective." Saihara adds, "And Ouma… is the Ultimate Supreme Leader, who in the letter your future self shows hatreds towards. Pay attention, you said—" Though it's not her. It's someone else, someone who this Harukawa he knows, with a breaking down heart and a laugh so grim yet cheerful that he's gotten used to will become. Saihara doesn't know the girl with red eyes and a cold tone who was groomed to be a killer. He knows the one who giggles too hard and gave up pretending to be someone she isn't the moment she broke herself as the image of a murderer.

He doesn't continue, so Harukawa starts speaking, emotions unclear. "There's also something about an astronaut, I'm not sure… My head, it hurts to think of it." Her eyes are downcast as she speaks quietly. "Sorry, I'm not in-character today."

"So why force yourself?" Saihara asks, eyes boring into her.

Harukawa smiles at him, bright. Before laughing, "I'm not sure, Saihara-kun. Hey, maybe I should just scream about how I thought about hanging myself three times this week! Let the whole world know. Genuineness is just," she breathes out, breathy, and then she restarts her sentence. _"I_ _actually_ _thought_ _of_ _hanging_ _myself."_

Ouma watches saihara with wide eyes at his simple response. "Cool."

Harukawa laughs, "This is why I like you, Saihara-kun. You're a really good friend! Because you don't tell me to try and be okay. Though isn't that bad..? I'm not really sure. Haha." Then she speaks again, "Anyways. What was your letter about, then? Since mine was definitely different from what yours would be."

Ouma speaks almost hesitantly. His words are strong, though, as he explains, "S-Saihara-senpai's letter is about… how the game went and goes into details like the way the bodies were positioned, as well as who he hung out with, and centers around everyone in the game which is how he knew to talk to me. W-When we first met, I mean."

"Do you have a letter then? Since I have one, and Saihara-kun has one, and you mentioned someone else who I have to guess is part of this Danganronpa cast group." Harukawa questions as she leans forward, "Damn, your floor is really messy." Boxes scattered around, Saihara would have to agree.

"I-I… can't say." Ouma looks at the ground, kicking his feet in an uncomfortable manner. He shuts his eyes tight, and then opens them, too scared. "I really, really can't say." He frowns, his fingers twitching as he changes the conversation. "So… Saihara-senpai should show you his letter then. Probably. Maybe? U-Um."

"Oh, right." Saihara pulls out the wrinkled envelope in his jacket pocket. "Here, Harukawa-san. The names of the people in the game are on here." Harukawa hesitates to take it, but still, she does. Her eyes rush over it like there's barely enough time.

The laugh that comes out of her is almost feverish. She smiles, too wide and her voice comes out broken in half, "Kaito Momota. _Kaito_ _fucking_ _Momota. Senpai."_ Her breath is heavy when she sighs.

"W-Wh— Do you know him, Harukawa-san?" Ouma asks softly, though there's that strange tone in his voice that makes it sound so strange and out of place that's  _ not him.  _ Saihara turns to Harukawa.

She glares into Ouma's eyes. "I don't want to talk to it about  _ you."  _

"Anyways." Saihara starts. "Anyways, now that you looked at the list, do you recognize anyone other than Momota-kun?" Harukawa snorts, passing the letter back. "Ah. I see. Thank you for answering my question, Harukawa-san."

"Sarcasm burns your skin, Saihara-kun. And! And, and I have. Hoshi-senpai is famous as the one tennis guy who did drugs' nephew. Akamatsu-senpai, I've read she is a genius at music and especially the piano. Amami-senpai is that one guy who will inherit a company? That's pretty crazy. There's a lot of people here I kind of know from websites." Harukawa lists, raising her fingers. "Oh! And I know I was once on the news in a trial, and your uncle… it's, it's all weird. I only recognize some though.."

Ouma's fingers fidget too fast, breathing too fast. His sleeves, too long on him, drag on his sheets when he twitches.

"You consume too much media then." Saihara states. Harukawa giggles. "Hm… I've only met Ouma-kun, you, Momota-kun, Yonaga-san… Hm… Oh, yeah. I also know Akamatsu-san." Ouma peeks up at him through the hair covering his eyes, flinching.

"Akamatsu-senpai..?" Harukawa asks, curiosity sinking into her voice like melting iron on her ribs. "Then, that's your next target."

"T-Target?" Ouma gasps. "Please— P-Please… don't kill Akamatsu-san, Saihara-senpai…"

Saihara blankly stares at Harukawa, then Ouma, before smiling. It's a strange look on his face, so unnatural it makes him almost look crude. "My next target. That's a funny way of putting it, Harukawa-san. First, Ouma-kun, then, you. Akamatsu-san after.

"It's almost as if I'm a detective, uncovering your secrets."

Harukawa starts laughing. And almost as if it's contagious for the first time of her horrid mess of a life, Ouma starts giggling as well, too quiet to be considered a laugh and so abnormal it's a miracle. It makes Saihara feel sick in his stomach, a hamster crawling around when he laughs along, more genuine than he likes it.

"Shut up,  _ 'Ultimate Detective'."  _ Ouma says too playfully, his eyes blazing neon purple.  _ "Saihara-chan."  _ There's something about the way he says it, the underlying tone of his punctuated sentence that is so stupidly ironic.

"I'm not sure,  _ Ultimate Supreme Leader."  _ Saihara shrugs, and he can feel his eyes glowing the colour of the sun. "Are you sure you want me to shut up?"

A cold gaze of red stares at them, and it's all a joke, all some stupid joke but he can't help but feel like this isn't them, but it is. It will be. And if they manage to survive, then this will be who they will be for the rest of their fucking lives. (Boredom crawls in his skin he cannot get rid of, so Saihara wonders how a simple machine messing with his brain made to show teenagers killing each other with pink blood can. He wonders how a machine can fix someone so broken as him. As them. Yet it's so simple.) "Hm… You know, I wonder how large the improvement it is to go from a killer to an assassin." So carefree, as she laughs at herself.

"That reminds me, the title of Supreme leader… that's so…" Ouma's sighs in a laugh, "s-stupid! And Saihara-senpai as a detective." There's a funny smile on his face and Harukawa looks at him like they know his next words. "That sounds rather suspicious."

"Let me be who I am, and I won't commit arson to your house." Saihara quotes. "I don't remember where I heard it, but I memorized it. It… hurts my head when I think of it, now that I think of it?" Saihara holds his head for a moment, staring into the void as a migraine comes. "Fuck."

"Arson? Why commit arson only when society suppresses you!?" Harukawa shouts loud into the air, raising a pencil in her hand. Saihara is sure that the people below in the cafe can hear them, and that's absolutely great. "Let the whole world burn, and let fate go fuck itself. That's another quote!" Harukawa laughs into the air.

"I-If you guys commit arson to the planet… I get to take over the whole world." Ouma mumbles. "But, first. First, we have to speak to Akamatsu-san. A-Any… um, plans?"

* * *

_ 375 days ago, after school, 5:13 PM. Saturday. _

Akamatsu's hands have a mind of their own, breaking her down as her hatred presses down on the keys. Too fast, too slow.  _ She can't get the fucking key right at this part.  _ It sounds bad, bad, absolutely horrible. She needs to press harder, not too soft or not too hard but  _ harder _ when she plays, because her fingers need to feel sore after she play, and she needs to feel a rush through her soul.

Her teacher, as always, congratulates her like she's a genius. Like she is good enough. But really she isn't, because the noise of sharp minor C when she plays is too off-putting. Akamatsu doesn't put enough emotions in it, and the line 27 is always off because her hands don't hold enough energy at that part.

It's all so fake, all so  _ human  _ when she goes downstairs in sharp heels that will break if Akamatsu makes one wrong move. Though she was the one who put them on herself, she's the one who forces herself to wear them because everybody thinks she is so absolutely perfect so Akamatsu needs to be.

She had parents, once. Now they're just trash, rotten peels of bananas and melting toxics in puke dressed up in fancy necklaces and fake rings that share empty promises to love each other that bring roses to other people and sleep with other shit piles. They eat, sitting straight as though they are that of nobility, with their neat fork and spoons and knives that Akamatsu knows would be so easy to raise into her own throat.

(Her sister is here in this cursed house, but she doesn't eat with them, because she's better than trash. Though Akamatsu hasn't seen her since her first teacher took her away to teach her piano. Always with those heavy red nails, and always with a smile so beautiful Akamatsu swears her eleven-year-old self had a crush on.)

She's thought too much of how it would taste to kill herself, what her last thoughts would be as she left this world, so instead she blinks softly and loses her appetite at the thought of her future.

Poison at the tip of her lips as she raises her fork, the taste is so polished with spices. And really, it's not poison, but it helps to imagine it is. Because death is so much easier than living. To marry someone you don't love when you think you do (though she knows, true in her heart, she would rather kiss the girl in her class with long black hair in a high ponytail, the one with the pretty voice and the long eyelashes), to have his children and play life like a piano.

She's really not thinking of what happens next then, because her hands are what the piano, not her. Akamatsu doesn't want to play, but it's the only thing she can do, for both life and the piano.

And in conclusion, humanity is to be hopeless.

Let tomorrow be better, then, Akamatsu thinks without a second thought, before continuing her day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part - The first part is Harukawa’s part. Because. I. Can. I really don’t know why I did, it’s just more interesting. Hey! Maybe you can think of some deep logic about how it helps the plot move along. Or something.
> 
> Saree petticoats - They’re a type of skirt people wear that go down around to their ankle. The type, if you want to be reassured, is an a-line. I just looked this stuff on the spot, slammed down words into my keyboard and got a type of skirt.
> 
> She doesn’t laugh in the grave where her mother died. - If you’re wondering why she isn’t laughing. Read into this.
> 
> There are no sharp edges and the freezer is not big enough for someone to fit in. - No dead bodies then. Oh well.
> 
> Rose tea - Caffeine-free, good hydration, and it helps menstrual pain. It can help your digestive system and yes, if you can tell, I am making this up on the spot. But. Like. Not really. This feels weird. Rose. Rosie. What. Who said Rosie. Not me. Haha—
> 
> Orange pekoe tea - It has quite a few benefits, and if you are interested feel free to look it up.
> 
> Harukawa and Saihara friendship - I wanted to make this friendship seem really close, like best buddies and do the same thing for Yumeno, small spoiler. It's because I ship this friendship. Ship? That's not the right word, is it? I just, for some reason, really head-can.non this friendship because I DON'T KNOW. IT'S LIKE WHEN YOU LIKE WHOLESOME PURE LESBIAN MOMENTS AND YOU DON'T KNOW WHY!
> 
> Chomp - Ouma be CHOMPing hard on his bun. What type of bun you wonder!? Custard.
> 
> Fill his lungs with flowers until he chokes sick of them, why don't you. - I like these. Gimme.
> 
> Ouma's pov - it was 12 am okay!? Just pretend. Pretend. pretend Ouma is haha funny kid. Kk? I give up on spelling okay why is tjis italicized i dont ficking know let me curse and shit I just wanna scream I just wrote the crackiest line omg. I got to 4,669 WORDS today before it got to crack god. Did you know I have a limit of words before I start writing crack? I bet you didn't. Well, now you know.
> 
> Waffles Dadapon - JOSEPH ANDERSON ON YOUTUBE IN HIS PERSONA 5 PLAYTHROUGH LETS GOOOOOOO
> 
> November 20th. - I just did some simple math to find this out. I don't actually keep track. If I should, feel free to shout at me and go through. Full brain geometry answer using the Pythagorean theorem or something. Oh! Btw, that's a thing you learn in 8th grade or something where you use exponents to find out the length of sides to the triangle. Math is fun. Yeah, I know, fuck me for saying that. I'm already a bitch.
> 
> Pretty blonde girls with big tits - Thank you to Justin.
> 
> The two, Saihara and Harukawa going to the roof - As you might have noticed, Harukawa used to hang out with Nagamine and Akana on a roof, and Akana pushed herself off a roof and the fence wasn't high enough. I'm kind of saying, in a way that Harukawa hangs on the roof to reminiscence on the roof, since in that one section with Harukawa's situation, respectfully, she doesn't want to move on just yet but will soon. So that's why Harukawa was on the roof.
> 
> "Yesterday I heard you say. Your lust for life has gone away. It got me thinking, I think I feel a similar way. And that's sad (that's sad)" - The Cult of Dionysus, The Orion Experience. It's a pretty neat song if you like to jam to the 2000 to 2010 type of songs, I think. Correct me if I'm wrong.
> 
> Nagamine saying let me in - LET ME IN!! LET ME INNNNN!!!!!!!
> 
> Momota hums before grinning, eyes glittering space. - in a non gay way
> 
> Momota's age - He's in his third year, his last year, so the others refer to him with senpai (can we please not make fun of the honorific system at Japan in this sense because I'm sure people who use honorifics feel really weird about what context senpai is used for sometimes and how many foreigners see it as. Though again, I'm not sure what the majority think.) Saihara refers to Momota as kun though and will be explained later.
> 
> Saihara doesn't know the girl with red eyes and a cold tone who was groomed to be a killer. He knows the one who giggles too hard and gave up pretending to be someone she isn't the moment she broke herself as the image of a murderer. - What crack was I on when I was writing this.
> 
> The arson talk - So this is like, symbolism about hey fuck society laws and fuck fate and fuck life and everything we're going to live the way we want and if we burn the world (the laws of society and how people usually mask their true selves or suddenly have a character to stick to) being ourselves, THEN LET US FUCKING BURN THE GODDAMN WORLD!!! :D and no I did not just make this up and no this is not a reference to something nobody will get because I'm a sociopath and fuck.

**Author's Note:**

> [Discord Server](https://discord.gg/MkRS8z9)


End file.
